Little By Little
by Sugah n Spice
Summary: Sequel to Mix 'n' Match. Rogue And Remy are finally together, but can their relationship survive their pasts? Or annoying work colleagues? Or each other? Also BetsyWarren, JeanLogan, EmmaBobby. And lots of fun.
1. Secret's Out

**Disclaimer:** Characters belong to Marvel unless otherwise stated, so please don't sue us...

**Note:** No, you're not imagining this. Yes, we really have finally got round to doing a sequel. Get ready for twice as much sex, sass and wild shenanigans! Just to keep you all up to speed, this story begins 2 weeks after Jean's wedding in the first story, and will focus more on what happens to Rogue and Gambit over the next year or so. But don't worry - the other gals and their beaus will have a big look-in too. For all newcomers, it might help if you read _Mix 'n' Match_, otherwise a lot of this story may not make sense. And we just wanna say - it's great to be back! And thanks to everyone who read, reviewed and supported our fic last time round. We couldn't have done it without you guys (:hugs to our readers:) So please do the same for this fic -- and read, review and enjoy!

-_Ludi and angyxoxo x_

PS: **Just to be clear... Yes, this story does (mostly) take place before the last chapter in MnM.**

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**Little By Little**

**(1) Secret's Out **

Do you remember how it was way back when you were in high school?

You know, when you were way too young to bother thinking about how your grades would end up affecting your future, when your hormones were playing havoc with your body and you were way too consumed with wanting to spend the rest of your life with the school quarterback?

Come on, we all know we've been there. When you're in school there are far more pressing matters in life. Like parties, and clothes, and makeup and men.

Now that I come to think of it, I guess I haven't really grown up at all, since my life seems to be pretty much consumed by the same things. But that's not the point. I mean, how can I not remember sitting in my boring French class, listening to Professor Dupont blathering on in a language I couldn't make head or tail of when the guy I'd been secretly wanting to snog all semester was sitting at the desk next to me? Freddy Jones happened to be the school quarterback and a very fine one he was too. So fine, in fact, that I spent most of my time in lessons fantasizing about jumping his bones instead of actually taking notes. I do believe that was the reason I failed French in the end - even though it would've been a darn sight more useful to me if I'd passed, now that I'm working at Laurier & Lauriel.

Right now I'm in the creative team's office, and I think I finally understand how Professor Dupont felt when he'd bemoaned the fact that no one ever actually listened to him. There I am, standing in front of a bored class of six people, trying desperately to get something sensible out of my mouth, let alone grab their attention. It doesn't look like it's working.

Oh well, seeing as we're all here, I guess I might as well take the opportunity to introduce everyone. The six people currently sitting in front of me just happen to be the creative team of Laurier & Lauriel, one of the foremost perfume companies in the U.S. Heather Cameron (on advertisements and publicity) is staring out the window with a wistful look on her face. Tabitha Smith (on costume design) is staring blankly and blowing pink bubblegum at me. Robert Kelly (on color schemes and coordination) appears to be scowling at the floor - since he's never liked me, I can only assume he's doing everything in his power to ignore anything I say anyway. In the middle, Peter Rasputin, the new project's artistic genius, is absently doodling a mini masterpiece onto the corner of his notepaper; his girlfriend, Kitty Pryde, the computer wizard, is merely gazing at him with an expression of pure adoration on her freckled face. The only one who appears to be listening to me at all is Roberto DaCosta (on packaging), who's looking up at me with rapt (and slightly unnerving) attention.

And of course, the lucky gal who's spearheading the creative team's latest project, the one who's holding it all together, is none other than me.

Who am I, I hear you ask? Well, that's easy enough.

I'm Anna Raven, and right now I'm in a helluva lot of trouble if I don't get these guys to use some brainpower anytime soon.

"C'mon, guys!" I end up breaking into the silence, which has filled a chasm of way over a minute already. "Y'all haveta think of _somethin'_!"

Another silence fills the room, during which everyone sits and twiddles their thumbs. _Crack_. That's Tabitha and her bubblegum. Roberto, who's been looking so studious and attentive so far, merely stares at me with a confused frown on his handsome face.

Now I'm starting to realize why Professor Dupont had a nervous breakdown in my sophomore year.

"Guys," I turn to pleading instead, "may Ah remind yah that, contrary to popular belief, Ah am _not_ here talkin' at you for fun. Actually, Ah am doin' this totally against mah will. Do you know who requested this meetin'? _Monet St. Croix_. Yes, the bitch from upstairs who shows us the money. She seems t'think we're spendin' way too much on our _Lavande_ project, and wants us t' brainstorm ways in which we can cut costs. Like for instance," I gesture in Kitty's direction, "cutting down on the visual effects, maybe?"

That immediately gets Peter's undivided attention, but predictably in totally the wrong way.

"What! Tone down on the visuals? No way, Anna, Kitty and I have this whole thing planned out to perfection, if we lose anything of hers, we lose the whole finished product!"

"You're only saying that 'cos she's your _girlfriend_," Tabs shoots at him slyly.

"Which is highly unethical, I might add," Robert Kelly cuts in caustically, still scowling at the floor.

"There's no law against me seeing someone I like, even if she happens to be in the same workplace as me!" Peter retorts indignantly, coming to Kitty's defense as always. It looks like Robert Kelly is going to bust in again, and since I don't want to hear about office romances at this particular moment, I decide to break the fight up before it begins.

"Alright, alright, let's leave the work ethics out of this, please!" I interrupt irritably. "Listen, Ah know this is borin', and there are much more excitin' things we need to get on with where the project's concerned. But we have a meetin' with Monet and the other section heads at half eleven, and no doubt about it - Ms. High-and-Mighty's gonna be wantin' results, otherwise yours truly gets her ass handed on a platter to her. Now how about we come up with somethin' productive for a change?"

Robert Kelly looks at me as if he couldn't care less if Monet whupped my ass or not. Roberto, however, is moved to eagerly suggest: "How about we do the advertisements in sepia? Or black and white? That'll cut costs."

"Are you crazy?" Kelly hisses at him. "Sepia? _Black and white_?"

"I thought it would be classy…" Roberto ventures meekly.

"Classy?" Kelly retorts disdainfully. "What are we supposed to be selling, old fashioned washing up powder? Ms. Munroe will have a fit!"

There's a collective groan. Ororo Munroe, world-class supermodel, happens to be face of our new perfume, _Lavande_, and has been butting in on every step of the creative process so far.

"Sorry, Rob, but no color scheme changes," I say apologetically to the handsome Latino. "It's way too late to be doing that now, and besides, color is essential for bringing off Peter's artwork. But thanks for the suggestion anyway."

He beams at me, a little too widely or so I think. Not for the first time since I've been in his presence, I start to feel uncomfortable.

"Why don't you just ask Mr. LeBeau to go and sort things out with Monet himself?" Tabitha suggests calmly, having just annoyingly cracked her gum yet again.

"Yeah!" Kitty enthuses. "I'm sure that once Mr. LeBeau explains things to her, he'll be able to make her see that we can't change a thing."

"That's not what I meant," Tabs says pointedly, casually blowing gum again.

"Yeah, Mr. LeBeau's on pretty _good terms_ with Monet, Kitty," Heather points out.

_Crack_.

"Yeah, he won't even have to open his mouth to get her to agree to anything he says," Tabitha adds with a hint of a smirk. "Actually, scratch that, he may have to open his mouth, but only in a strictly recreational way, if you catch my drift."

"He can use his mouth on me for recreation any time of the day or night," Heather remarks wistfully, curling a strand of her golden blonde hair round a finger and looking off into space. Robert Kelly merely looks at them both with a look of disgust on his face.

"You shouldn't talk about your superiors like that," he reprimands them disapprovingly.

"Just 'cos you want to cozy up to them so you can get promoted," Tabitha replies flippantly.

"Working with unambitious losers like yourself, is it any wonder?" he sneers down his nose at her.

At that point I decide to step in, since I know that Tabitha's rage is something best not seen; and besides just hearing about Remy LeBeau and his recreational activities - especially in reference to Monet St. Croix - sets my teeth on edge.

"Guys, _please_!" I finally cry in frustration. "We've got ten more minutes and arguments are _not_ helping! Oh Gawd!" I finally groan and bury my forehead in a hand. "How are we gonna come up with something in time for the meetin'!"

"_You_ could always talk to Mr. LeBeau yourself, and convince him to have a word with Monet," Tabitha suggests sweetly. "He _lurves_ you."

It's my turn to be indignant. "And what does _that_ mean?" I demand.

The girls pass one another the kind of looks only cliquey girls can exchange. The men merely pretend to look clueless. Well, Peter does anyway. Robert Kelly's still scowling and looking like he'd rather be in the sewers than sitting here with us. Roberto has a small, disappointed frown on his face.

"Well, we _have_ noticed the way he looks at you…" Tabitha begins.

"Just a little…" Kitty adds.

"Not to mention all the rumors going round," Heather continues. "They are just rumors, aren't they?" she asks quickly as an afterthought, a ravenous look on her face.

_Uh oh_…

"Of course they are!" I snap, before I can incriminate myself any further. "And for your information, Ah am not in any way, shape or form goin' to go and kiss Mr. LeBeau's ass, not even if yah paid meh! This is _our_ problem and it's got nothin' t'do with him!"

"Anna's right!" Roberto suddenly bursts in. "Why should she have to go and beg Mr. LeBeau for help? We don't need any favors from him anyway! And as for those rumors going round - how can you believe a single one of them? Anna's _way_ out of Mr. LeBeau's league anyway! As if she'd be screwing around with him!"

He flops back in his seat, his face flushed yet strangely satisfied, while the girls around him all look thoroughly chastened. I, on the other hand, am trying not to look too guilty.

_If only you knew, Roberto, if only you knew…_

-oOo-

Approximately half an hour later, I'm dragging my heels towards the conference room, having gained virtually nothing from my meeting with the rest of the creative team. As I make my way to the other side of the building, I wonder yet again why I was even chosen to spearhead this project in the first place. Of course, I owe it all to my bosses, Remy LeBeau and Jean-Paul Beaubier, for giving me the chance to realize my creative talent and actually handle the new campaign. I'd impressed them so much that Remy had actually placed me on his team in the first place, and as far as Jean-Paul is concerned, I can't do any wrong. But on the other hand, sometimes it's just way too responsibility for li'l old me to handle.

The rest of the creative team are already seated in the conference room, along with Jean-Paul, that supercilious cow, Monet St. Croix, and several other section heads I don't have the pleasure of knowing very well. I walk in and take my seat at the table, wondering how I'm going to bluff my way out of yet another tight situation. It's all I seem to be doing these days. Across from me there's another empty seat, in which Remy LeBeau is meant to be sitting. I stare absently at my watch. No doubt he's on one of his famous cigarette breaks. My mouth creases into a frown.

"Anyone seen Mr. LeBeau?" Jean-Paul asks, obviously wondering the same thing as me.

"He's always late," Monet observes with a certain amount of displeasure. She's probably wondering where he is too.

"He's probably having an early lunch," Tabitha murmurs loud enough for half the table to hear. "Probably a bit of mutton dressed as lamb?" At this Kitty lets out an uncontrollable giggle which she unsuccessfully tries to turn into a cough. Monet's eyes shoot daggers at Tabitha, who calmly ignores her. For once, I'd happily do the same as Monet and shoot evils across the table at Tabs, if it wasn't such a dead giveaway.

"Well," Jean-Paul gives a polite little cough, looking innocent - even though I know he's far from it and probably enjoying the joke as much as anyone else - "since we're already running a little over schedule, we'll have to start without him. I'd first like to say that -"

"Sorry, JP, am I late?"

Everyone swivels round to see Remy LeBeau finally make his grand entrance. I try to seem unconcerned about his presence and ignore him, but can't help stealing a look at him after all, even if it is only out of the corner of my eye.

Cajun Casanova, imperturbable womanizer, one of New York City's most eligible bachelors and drop-dead gorgeous would be just some of the phrases applicable to my boss and the head of the creative team. As he swaggers in and takes his place opposite me, you can literally feel all the female hormones in the room start to kick in. Dressed in a charcoal gray pinstripe suit, his jacket slung over his shoulder and his shirt half undone, it's a wonder half the women don't pounce on him and rip the whole damn ensemble off of him. Myself included.

Geez, has the temperature just gone up in this room or what?

"No harm done, Remy," Jean-Paul replies cheerfully, not even fazed when Remy calls him by his nickname in front of the subordinates. He loosens his tie a little. Even though he's extremely gay, it's a well-established fact that Remy is merely his dearest friend. It's just that Remy is so goddamn gorgeous, even his gay best friend has to get hot under the collar for him. He just has that effect on people.

I carefully avert my eyes as he sits, only briefly flickering my gaze over him. At 6 foot 2, with his tanned skin and artfully tousled auburn hair, he's the kind of tall, dark and handsome that any lady would kill to lay her greedy mitts on. He's also blessed with the most hypnotic, wicked and beautiful eyes a man can ever possess - a strange mixture of red and black that gives him the quintessential bad boy look. And since when has any woman ever been able to resist a bad boy? Apart from Kitty, that is?

"Didn't disturb anyt'ing, did I?" Remy continues in his usual blasé manner, shooting Monet a meaningful smirk, and winking openly at Heather. While Monet merely looks away with a shadow of a smile on her face, Heather looks like she's about to faint dead away. "Only I had t' have my cigarette break, y'know?" Remy concludes. I still avoid his gaze, silently thankful that he wasn't having an 'early lunch' after all.

"I'm sure we all know about your cigarette breaks by now, Remy," Jean-Paul returns archly, "but if you could turn up for meetings on time for a change…"

"But of course," Remy replies with his usual dazzling smile, which charms the rest of the table. "Je suis desolé, Jean-Paul."  
"Non problème," Jean-Paul smiles back indulgently, and blithely continues with his introduction. I sit and half listen, my mind wavering between finding a way to bullshit out of my predicament and ignoring Remy. Part way through Jean-Paul's speech, I take a peek at him, only to find he's been gazing at me the whole time. When my gaze meets his, a small smile creases his lips, one that isn't enough to be immediately obvious to anyone else but me. My eyes dart away, but I end up smiling down at my paper despite myself.

_Damn him!_

"And now," JP is suddenly saying, "we might as well get down to discussing what we're all gathered here for. Monet, if you please?"

Monet stands up to make her speech. It's time to switch off - only I can't really afford to as I know she's going to give me the third degree about the creative team's finances anyway. So I sit there and try to be attentive.

That's when I feel Remy's foot start to trail up my calf.

I swing my head round to face him, ready to snap - if that were at all possible. He smiles again, just a flash, before mouthing 'chere' at me. His eyes are literally smoldering. I take in a breath and mouth '_no_' back, before turning back to face Monet. Still, his foot doesn't leave mine alone, and insists on teasing me to distraction.

Drop-dead gorgeous he may be, but he's also an infuriating, irritating, slimy, sleazy, good-fer-nuthin' pervert.

Okay, okay, I admit it - as if you guys hadn't guessed already! Remy LeBeau's my man, and I'm his gal. And did I also mention that no one else at L&L knows that fact?

Yup - while I'm trying desperately to listen to Monet St. Croix driveling on about boring old finances, the guy I'm having a torrid office romance with insists on playing footsie with me under the desk.

Remy loves it. Playing with the relationship boundaries in front of work colleagues, I mean. It isn't keeping our relationship a secret that he loves, it's watching _me_ trying to keep it a secret that amuses him no end. He couldn't care less. He'd declare we're an item to all and sundry - if I hadn't threatened him with dire consequences beforehand, that is. Every moment he gets the chance he's teasing me, and it drives me crazy 'cos he knows I can't resist. I also suspect it's his way of getting back at me for holding out until he gets himself -ahem- checked out.

Well, a gal can't take any risks, can she!

So as I was saying, there I am, sitting with my pen and papers in front of me, trying to look demure and attentive, while Remy's torturing me underneath the table. And I'd thought I'd beaten him at his own game by sitting myself across from him instead of next to him! At least it'd stop him from rubbing my leg and driving me insane with his artful caresses. But no, there's just no way I can escape the single-mindedness of that insufferable jerk!

So I sit there for a while, attempting to keep a straight face. I avoid meeting his gaze at all costs. I frown down at my papers with a ferocity I hope will get him to back off. I shift my feet and try to throw him off, and then I figure that if I can't shake him off I'll make myself as impenetrable as I can. So I press my legs together and try desperately to listen to Monet droning on in the background. But he's completely determined to get a reaction out of me. He trails his foot between my calves and up between my knees, lingering there to tease me. My knees involuntarily wobble and let him in. By this time I'm blushing furiously.

"_Stop it!_" I can't help myself from shrieking at him.

It turns out Monet thinks I'm telling _her_ to shut up. Since there's no love lost between us, she wouldn't put it past me. Hell, I wouldn't even put it past myself. But unfortunately, this time she's read it all wrong.

"Is there something you object to, Ms. Raven," she asks me with her usual condescending coolness, "or are you just having trouble keeping up?"

Even though I'm seething inside and can barely resist the urge to scratch her eyes out (Remy can wait for the time being), I grit my teeth and remain as polite as I can.

"No," I force out ungraciously. "Please continue. Bitch," I add, muttering under my breath. Beside me, Kitty gives one of her explosive snorts. Unfortunately, Monet's hearing is sharper than she lets on.

"_Excuse_ me?" she demands, eyes narrowed into dark slits.

_Quick brain, think! _

"'Switch'," I blurt out without a second thought. "Ah said 'Switch'. Yah know, that new perfume by Hugo Boss? They promoted it on a fairly tight budget. Maybe your team could check out some of their marketin' strategies, see how they tally up with ours. Maybe we could save a few dollars by using some of their techniques."

_Score! _

"Excellent suggestion," Mr. Beaubier enthuses, and some of the other section heads nod or hum their agreement. Monet gives me an icy stare, knowing full well what I really said but unable to say anything about it. I duck my head and look as innocent as I can, while heaving an inner sigh of relief. I look up briefly to pass Remy an acid glare of my own, but he's merely slouching back in his chair and smiling at me. There's a little hint of pride in his smile, showing how much he approves of my quick-wittedness. I guess having a big mouth does have its advantages. And at least Remy's stopped torturing me for the time being.

It seems to take hours before the meeting is finally adjourned, and when it is I can't escape fast enough. Just as I'm going out into the corridor, my persistent boss manages to catch up with me.

"Ro- Anna, I mean?"

I turn, secretly wishing he wouldn't keep forgetting my name's Anna and not Rogue. Our behavior is suspicious enough as it is.

"Yes, sir?" I ask, refusing to look him in the eye, since I know that if I do look into that devastatingly handsome, chiseled face, I'll end up jumping his bones and it'll be like high school and Freddy Jones all over again. Remy however, seems to have gone back into nonchalant mode.

"I need to speak to you about de _Lavande _project," he says. "In person. D'you t'ink you could come round t' my office in, say, half an hour? Wit' your papers?"

Just as he asks the question, Monet brushes past us like a gust of cold wind. She catches Remy's request and gives me a look that says _I know exactly what you two are up to._ I glare at her. The unfortunate thing is, she probably does. I've had to endure weeks of rumors started by her, rumors that started out as completely untrue, but that now have a small grain of truth to them. It's gone around L&L several times that I only got into the company because I slept with Remy, that I'm a low-down hoe using him to climb up the ladder, that I'm leading him astray with my wicked charms - although how I could possibly lead Remy astray is beyond me, since he leads himself astray pretty darn well enough. My way of combating the accusations is to act cool and ignore everyone - including Remy. Remy's way of dealing with it is to get frustrated and pursue me harder than ever. To him, it's simple. I'm his girl, and once everyone knows it, they'll stop bad-mouthing me. But of course, it's never as simple as that, especially in the workplace where rumors fly round faster than you can say 'cheap and nasty fling'.

So when he stands there in his delectable suit with that delectable body of his, and asks me in his sexy Cajun accent if I can go back to his office to 'speak' to him about the 'project', I can only try to reply as coolly as I can. And let me just say that that isn't very cool at all.

"Sure," I reply, once Monet's swept past. Then, looking down the corridor and making sure we really are alone, I add in a hiss: "Do you think y'all could stop bein' so goddamn obvious? Ah mean, playin' footsie with me durin' a _meetin'_?"

He smiles that sexy crinkle of a smile that he knows gets my heart racing.

"I can't help it," he states helplessly. "You look so sexy when you're angry."

Ugh! Is there no way of getting through to this guy!

"Just curb the foreplay in front of the suits, okay?" I beg him in a sharp whisper. He puts up his hands in self-defense.

"Okay, okay! I got it! From now on, Remy, he be an _ange_. He keeps his hands completely to hisself."

I can't decide whether to frown or smile. "Why do Ah get the feelin' your promise ain't even gonna last half an hour?" I muse out loud. He sighs theatrically.

"Y'know me too well, chere. Sometimes it scares me."

He pauses as someone passes, and as I turn to scurry back to my cubicle, he leans in and whispers seductively in my ear: "See y' in half an hour, chere."

He leaves and I'm still trembling pleasantly from the shivers his words send traveling down my spine.

-xXx-

The shivers are still there when I get to my desk. With an explosive sigh I throw down my papers, slump into my chair and mull over my predicament. Whatever angle I look at it, it doesn't look good. My secret just has to come out one way or another.

It's been two weeks since my friend, Jean Grey's ill-fated wedding. It's been two weeks since Remy and I have been together, and already I'm driving myself to distraction over it. You see, my boss isn't exactly your average kind of boyfriend. He's my boss for a start. He's insanely good-looking for another. He's also a dedicated skirt-chaser, with a complicated past and deep-rooted intimacy issues. He's gorgeous and beautiful and witty and smart and sleazy and infuriating and kind and considerate and sexy and funny and brooding and passionate and bold and outrageous and absolutely irresistible. I think you probably get the picture, right? I love him to bits and it's killing me that I can't show it. I hate the fact that I have to hide my relationship with him while I'm at work. I mean, it's fine after hours (apart from the fact that I've been holding out from him, which is naturally driving him crazy). But when I'm at work, it's like I'm in a _Mission Impossible_ rerun. It's almost like I'm leading a double life.

Why, I figure, can't any of my relationships just be 'normal'?

"Hey, Anna. What's up?"

Kitty's unexpected voice wakes me from my reverie. I look up as she enters my cube and smile broadly in greeting.

"Hey Kitty. Nothin's up, really. Just thinkin'."

"Must be heavy," she remarks, "you were sighing so hard back there I thought you'd blow your desk away."

"Nah. Ah was thinkin about the meetin'. Stupid Monet and her dumbass presentations." I pull a face and do an imitation of my hated nemesis droning on about last week's budget figures. Kitty's rolling about the floor in a matter of seconds. I pass a lop-sided smile, bemused by her amusement. Gee, it sure is nice to know someone appreciates your humor.

"You sure told her back there!" Kitty exclaims gleefully, holding her stomach. "That whole 'Switch' thing was priceless!"

She bursts into laughter again.

"Stupid cow," I mutter darkly. "Ah just wish she'd leave meh alone."

"Aw, c'mon Anna, you can give her back twice as good as you get," Kitty states, wiping her eyes and sobering up slowly. "Everyone secretly enjoys it when you two come to blows. I know Petey does anyway. And it always makes Mr. LeBeau smile."

I ignore her 'Mr. LeBeau' comment, knowing I'd probably look as guilty as hell if I even mentioned his name.

"Where _is_ Petey?" I ask instead. "Ah thought you two were inseparable."

Kitty blushes prettily.

"Talking to Mr. Beaubier. Seems like Petey's as much of a hit with the big cheeses as you are, Anna. He's always so busy with the project I hardly get to see him these days." She sighs morosely. "Looks like you're busy too, what with all that time you spend in Mr. LeBeau's office."

I try not to look too suspicious at her unexpected comment. I know she's not fishing for anything - Kitty's far too honest for that, bless her cotton socks - but at the moment anything Mr. LeBeau-related tends to ruffle me, especially since the time I spend in his office is strictly down to - shall we say - entertainment purposes, and nothing to do with work-related stuff at all.

"Hmmm," I agree as nonchalantly as I can. "Speaking of," I add, looking at my watch, "Ah'm supposed to be meetin' him right about now. Ah'd better get goin'."

"See what I mean," Kitty sighs dolefully, looking forward to continuing work on the project alone.

"Ah won't be long," I reassure her.

"You _always_ say that," she pouts.

"Okay, Ah _promise_ Ah won't be long," I promise her, randomly grabbing at my papers, knowing it won't really matter what I bring. "And then," I add with a wink, "when Ah get back, y'all can tell me how you an' Petey are gettin' on. Ah'm dyin' for a bit of girly gossip!"

Kitty flushes. "Alright. But only if you give me the lowdown on your love-life first, Ms. Raven!"

Darnit. Exactly the thing I was hoping to avoid.

-oOo-

I give the perfunctory knock on Remy's door before letting myself inside. The room is dim, the blindfolds are half-drawn on the windows, and everything is quiet.

It's also completely empty.

I venture inside slowly and close the door behind me, puzzled.

"Remy?" I call.

The next moment he's behind me, his arms wrapping snugly about my waist, and I gasp as I feel his warm kisses press behind my ear, all the way down my neck to the dip of my shoulder.

"Remy!" I cry in rebuke, but it doesn't make any difference to his onslaught.

"Been goin' crazy without you, chere…" he murmurs into my hair before resuming his kisses, and within seconds I can no longer resist. I turn into his embrace, press my body against his and find his lips with my own, bringing our mouths together in a hungry kiss. _Damn you, Cajun!_

It's several moments before we finally pull apart.

"We've gotta stop meetin' like this," I mutter as his lips rediscover my throat and he presses light kisses all over my sensitive flesh. "Remy, yah _did_ promise me…"

"Oui, oui, I know, no more messin' around in de office." He pauses in-between kisses to say the words. "But dis time I called you in here for a reason, p'tit."

"What reason?"

He doesn't answer, his mouth now firmly latched onto the side of my neck, and I moan, forgetting about the rules I'd ground into him the day before and surrendering to his sweet caresses. He's won this round anyway, so I might as well enjoy the ride while he's at it. A minute or so later we both surface and he murmurs: "Got a surprise for you, chere."

I raise an eyebrow at him, and he grins, unwraps me from his arms and walks to the desk. When he turns back to me he has a brown envelope in his hand.

"Am Ah s'pposed t' know what that is?" I ask sarcastically when he waves it. He rolls his eyes.

"I'm clean," he explains impatiently.

"You're what?" I say, nonplussed.

"I'm _clean_," he repeats slowly, with a whole wealth of meaning. It takes a moment to dawn on me.

"Ohhhhhh," is all I can say. Suddenly, he's all smiles again.

"So I was thinkin', maybe I could take you out for dinner t'night? What d'you prefer? Chinese, Greek, Italian? Den after, I can take you back to my place for dessert. Howzabout some strawberries and whipped cream? Or are you more of a melted chocolate kinda gal?" he adds seductively, his eyes burning as they hold mine. I take in a breath, let it out.

"Whoa," I blurt. Suddenly my big mouth isn't so big anymore.

"Or maybe we can do t'ings de old-fashioned way," he suggests when I'm too dumbfounded to say anything. "I can get some wine and we can actually _eat_ de dessert. From bowls. Wit' spoons."

He sounds so ridiculous and desperate and funny that I can't help but burst into laughter.

"Quoi?" he asks, looking injured.

"Remy…" I walk up to him, still chuckling to myself, gripping his lapels and looking up at him with smoky eyes, "Y'all are somethin' else."

"You wouldn't be de first femme dat ever said dat t' Remy LeBeau," he murmurs in his usual brazen drawl. "And dat's why you ain't gonna say no t' me, chere."

"Pfft, y'all are full of it too," I pout playfully at him. His face falls and I feel unaccountably moved to reassure him. "Don't get me wrong. Ah'd love t' go t' dinner with yah, sugah. But Remy…" I look up at him doubtfully, "shouldn't we be takin' this slowly?"

He grins complacently. "I can do slow, chere. I can do just about anyt'ing you want me t' do. Just say de word. Although," he adds as an afterthought, "I still t'ink you're determined to kill me wit' all dis celibacy stuff, cherie."

"Ah, you'll live," I assure him, ruffling his auburn hair, which I know he hates, being as hair-obsessed as he is.

"Guess I just need to curb dis romantic soul of mine, neh?" he jokes.

"'Romantic soul'?" I scoff. "More like that overactive li'l friend of yours down south. Yah need t' learn to practice some self-restraint, Remy LeBeau."

If his distressed expression didn't look so tragic I might have laughed. I don't think 'self-restraint' is part of that boy's vocabulary, I really don't.

"Awww, Remy's been a good, good boy, Roguey!" he declares heartrendingly. He knows I can't stand that plaintive whine of his for too long, and he uses those beautiful big eyes to full effect so that I last even less than I normally would. I just can't resist kissing those artful lips of his; his hands automatically slip over my butt, pulling me as close as possible, and within seconds the clinch has become more passionate than I'd intended it to be.

So impassioned, in fact, that we don't even hear when someone knocks at the door and walks right in.

"Sorry, Mr. LeBeau, but Anna just forgot this and I thought --"

Remy and I both break apart as fast as lightning as soon as we hear the voice but it's already too late. I swivel round to see Kitty in the doorway, who immediately turns and faces the wall, loudly announcing: "Ohhhh, ffffiddle-sticks, I _so_ did not see that!"

I groan, and for once even Remy looks embarrassed. Kitty, meanwhile, makes no effort to move away from the wall.

"Ummm, Kitty… dis is not what you t'ink…" he finally stumbles, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, which tells me just how awkward he's really feeling.

"Think?" Kitty repeats, laughing weakly, still talking to the wall. "I don't think anything, Mr. LeBeau! I didn't even _see_ anything! Uh-uh, not a thing!"

Silence. I stare at Remy with a disgruntled look that says _I told you so_, and he stares back with a sheepish one that simply says _sorry_. Kitty merely remains facing the wall as if she'd been sent off to stand in the corner like a naughty schoolgirl.

"Kitty, it's okay," Remy says at last, still looking and sounding uncomfortable. "You can, uh, turn around."

Slowly she turns on her heels, her cheeks burning.

"I just saw that Anna had left some important files on her desk," Kitty explains meekly, holding up the papers in her hand as evidence. "And I thought you'd be needing them for the report, but, uh…" she lowers her hand and blushes even harder, "I guess you won't be needing them after all."

Remy clears his throat and scratches his neck again.

"Well, uh, thank you very much, Kitty, that was very thoughtful of you and -"

"Kitty," I cut in calmly before the charade can get anymore ridiculous, "Ah'm sorry, this is all just a huge misunderstanding." She stares at me, confused and looking a little betrayed as well. I hasten to continue: "This really _isn't_ what you think. And Ah _was _tryin' t' keep this a secret, but, well… since you're here, Ah guess you can be the first to know."

I link my arm through Remy's and suddenly Kitty's eyes are wide as saucers as she finally understands.

"_What_!" she gasps, her jaw dropping further than I've ever seen. "You mean… you two…!"

I smile and nod.

"_OhmiGOD_!" she shrieks, and I wince as I'm sure half the typing pool outside must have heard her. "I can't believe it! You and him…!" She runs out of words as quickly as she finds them, and does a strange little dance on the spot before finding them again. "It's like it's almost too good to be true! I mean, I thought you hated him, Anna! Although to tell you the truth I secretly _knew_ you'd both make such a good couple and…"

I wince again. Beside me Remy looks nothing short of petrified. I guess he's never seen a gushing female ranting before. Maybe telling Kitty wasn't such a good idea after all.

"We'd actually really appreciate it if you could keep it kinda hush-hush," I cut in before her voice can rise any higher. "Y'see, Remy an' Ah, we don't want this to get in the way of our work here at L&L and we'd prefer it if rumors were kept to an eensy-weensy minimum…" Even as I say the words, the idea of keeping everything quiet sounds ridiculous. _Who're you kiddin', Roguey?_ Nevertheless, Kitty's look of rapture turns to one of utmost seriousness. "Oh, say no more! You won't hear a word of this from me, not one!" She pauses and stares at us again. "Am I really the only one who knows?"

Beside me Remy shifts uncomfortably at this display of female gleefulness, but I ignore him.

"Yup," I nod, "think of yahself as privileged."

"Oh wow, this is so cool!" Kitty squeals, losing herself again. "Just wait till I tell Petey!" I frown heavily at her and she quickly checks herself. "I mean… Of course I won't tell Petey, I won't tell him anything at all..!"

Remy coughs meaningfully and strides back round his desk.

"Uhm…I have some stuff I should be gettin' on wit'," he states, still looking adorably awkward at Kitty's thrilled reaction, not to mention at being caught red-handed 'fraternizing' with his staff. Funny. I don't remember him ever being so shy whenever _I_ walked in on him with someone else. "I've detained you lovely young ladies long enough," he continues, his usual charm slowly returning to him as he carries on. "Although I'm glad I managed t' provide you wit' some light entertainment in de meantime." He winks saucily at me and I blush. It suddenly occurs to me that he's going to leave me to sort out all this mess and explain things to Kitty. _Holy crap…_

"Yes, well, uhm," I cough lightly, "Ah should get back and, uh, sharpen pencils or somethin'…"

"You could always stay here and sharpen my pen-" Remy begins dirtily, but I immediately cut him off, saying: "Yes, well, goodbye," before heading straight for the door.

"Suit yourself," he calls after me as I try to grab Kitty and drag her out with me. "Oh and Kitty," he adds, just as we've reached the door. She turns questioningly and he continues: "Leave dose papers here. Guess I'll look over dem since you've both been so kind as t' bring dem to me."

Kitty obliges and just as we're about to leave again he stops me, saying audaciously: "See you t'night den, Anna."

I pull a face at him that says _you wish_ and walk out.

-xXx-

Kitty's waiting for me outside the door when Remy finally lets me go.

"I can't believe it, Anna!" she whispers excitedly, pulling my arm through hers as we walk back towards our cubicles. "You and Mr. LeBeau - _together_! How long has this been going on!"

"Shh!" I hiss as her voice begins to escalate again. "Do you want the whole of L&L to know?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she apologizes in a lower tone, though still grinning broadly. "But it's all too good to be true! And I really do want to _know_! When? _How_?"

"Well," I admit slowly. "The how is a bit complicated. The when is a bit easier to answer. Officially, I guess it'd have to be about two weeks ago."

"_Officially_?" Kitty asks, sensing yet more intrigue. I groan inwardly. The only thing I can sense is that containing the collateral damage of this little incident is going to be some hard work. _Damn that man! Why can't he just keep his dirty paws to himself for a change!_

"Let's just say there was a bit of a misunderstanding between us," I explain as simply as I can. "And now we understand one another perfectly."

At least I hope we do. One thing I still can't understand is how and why men's brains always seemed to be geared towards the dreaded 'one thing'. And I'm not talking about love here.

"Oh, I'm so _happy_!" Kitty enthuses. "I mean, that you're happy, Anna. And Mr. LeBeau too, for that matter. He was so upset about that girlfriend he used to have before, the one he had back in New Or-" She trails off quickly. "Oh, but I suppose I shouldn't talk about that should I?" she corrects herself, suddenly embarrassed.

"It's okay," I say. "Ah know the one. The one who sent him the weddin' invite?"

I suddenly wonder where that wedding invitation is and what he did with it.

"Yes, that's the one. I never knew Mr. LeBeau back when he first came here, but all the veteran workers here, well they say that he was really cut up about her and…" She pauses again and shakes her head violently. "There I go again! Oh crap, Anna, I must've made such a fool of myself in front of Mr. LeBeau back there!"

"Don't worry about it," I smile. "Remy doesn't mind. Ah guess he's used to it. Next time you go off on one, Ah'll give yah fair warnin'."

"Trust me," Kitty replies dourly, "if I start yapping, the only way to get me to stop is to slap. _Hard_."

We both end up laughing as we finally turn into my cubicle. Once ensconced in there, Kitty leans in and asks: "So you're going to the Christmas party, right, Anna?"

Ah, the Christmas party, a time for all sorts of weird and wonderful happenings, for people to let their hair down and have a final chance to settle old scores and petty grudges. It's been scheduled for next Friday, two days before actual Christmas Day. Having only been in L&L for a couple of months, I'm interested to see what kind of mayhem will develop.

"Of course Ah'm goin'!" I retort indignantly. "Christmas at L&L wouldn't be the same without yours truly puttin' in a glamorous appearance!"

Betsy's already saying she has a dress lined up for me, and I simply can't wait to have all the men drooling over me - not to mention grinding Monet into the dust under my strappy, Jimmy Choo heels. Having an ex-supermodel for a best friend _does_ have its advantages after all…

"So are you going with Mr. LeBeau?" Kitty asks me ravenously. "Or are the two of you still gonna play it cool?"

Hmmm. I hadn't thought of that.

"Ah guess Ah'll haveta talk t' him about that," I answer slowly.

"Because it'd be so cool if you did," Kitty continues excitedly, "all the girls would be _so_ jealous!"

Yeah, I'd have to face about fifty jealous women in one room. Giving me evils. Whispering behind my back. Not that most of them don't already think I'm doing the dirty with Remy anyway. I sigh. It's a no-win situation.

"And let me guess," I change the subject quickly, "You're goin' with our very own Peter Rasputin! Am I right or am I right?"

Kitty smiles and bites her lip.

"Who else? Oh Anna, I can't tell you how happy I am that we're together! I think I must be the luckiest girl alive, to have such a gorgeous man like him!"

"And there's no one who deserves you better," I grin, affectionately squeezing her arm. "You two are about ten times better together than me an' Remy, that's for sure."

Kitty laughs.

"No way!" She leans in towards me, her voice dropping a notch and her eyes dancing. "Petey and I… well, to tell you the truth, we always secretly thought you guys looked good together."

"You thought that!" I cry in mock horror. "And you never told me!"

"Well, we thought you hated Mr. LeBeau so much, you'd bite our heads off if we ever said anything," Kitty says, actually looking half serious. She's probably not far off the mark either. Gawd, I was in so much self-denial back then!

"Hmmm, that Mr. Rasputin's a perceptive one," I muse comically.

"I'll say! He always told me you two would get together one day."

"Ah hope he hasn't been sayin' that to anyone else!" I exclaimed, half worried and half humorous.

"Of course not!" Kitty looks somewhat offended. "He wouldn't! He hates talking! I'm the only one he tells anything to!"

"Well, that's a relief!" I pause and add slyly: "So is talkin' the only thing you two get up to in your free time?"

-oOo-

Kitty and I gossip for a while before Peter comes back and the two go off to work on the artsy side of things. I'm left in my cube to handle the overall project, which I reckon is a lot less exciting than what they're saddled with.

I sigh and leaf through the big folder of papers labeled 'LAVANDE' in big stark capital letters. Okay, so I've managed to stave off Monet's complaints about finance by toting the old 'Switch' ammunition. Hmm. Sometimes having a big mouth does have its advantages. But there's still so much I have to get through before the day is out.

I shut the folder and stare at the title blankly. _Lavande._ _My _project.

Don't get me wrong, I'm proud to death of it. And I know the rest of the creative team feel the same way about it, bone-idle though they can sometimes be. It's just far more work than I ever thought it would be. I'm the one everyone else comes to, the one they report to, the one who approves and rejects ideas, the one that brings things together. The whole responsibility aspect unnerved me at first. Actually, scratch that - it still does. I still have trouble believing I'm as talented as Remy and Mr. Beaubier and everyone else would have me believe, that I actually have a vision worth creating, and that I can actually have that vision created. But knowing me and a challenge, I ain't giving up any time soon, despite how tiresome that challenge can sometimes be.

And right now that challenge is turning out to be very tiresome indeed. I look at the papers and can't seem to take in a word they say. The letters dance before my eyes. I give up, slouch back in my chair, and think about getting myself a cup of coffee from the vending machine. I search in my jacket pocket for the loose change I'd dropped in there from my previous coffee mission. That's when I feel it.

A small scrap of a note, neatly folded into two.

Puzzled, I take it out and open it up.

I read it once and I can't help smiling.

_'I'll pick you up at your place, 7 O'clock after work. Make sure you dress pretty for me, chere. _

_Love you. _

_Remy x'_

I shake my head helplessly and bite my lip to stop myself from laughing out loud.

All of a sudden, I've made up my mind about going out tonight.

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	2. Cat and Mouse

**Disclaimer: **All characters contained herein belong to Marvel and not to us.

**Note:** Wow! What a reception! Needless to say we're both thrilled! Thank you so much for the support and all the reviews you guys left - you rock our world! Now for just a few replies: - to the **many** people who asked about Rogue waiting until Remy finds out if he's 'clean'... I guess it's just a way of giving her some peace of mind - if he's clean then she's clean. And we also suspect she wants to do things the more respectable way... Not to mention have an excuse to make Remy squirm! How long she lasts though, is debatable. ;p **IvyZoe - **Fair point about Rogue's behaviour. I think she's feeling slightly guilty that she kinda started things the wrong way round with Remy, and feels very self-conscious about that. Obviously all the rumours going around about her at work isn't helping that sense of shame. And I think she's also worried about how an office romance might adversely affect her career. But the situation will naturally be resolved in due course, so read on. :) **Rogue4787** - Welcome back, hun! No, I haven't heard of Janet Evanovich, though I can't speak for Angy... I'm flattered you compare our writing style to hers, and I'm sure Angy does too! **Chaos-harbinger **- Hey, are you reading our minds here? LOL. All we can say is, as far as Belladonna's concerned, all will be revealed in due course... ;)

So that's it for now... Thanks again and please keep up the support!

-_Ludi x_

* * *

**Little By Little**

**(2) Cat and Mouse**

Remy LeBeau was sitting in the front seat of his expensive red Porsche and idly flicking through the channels on the radio, not even stopping to listen what was actually playing. He'd been sitting here waiting for the last fifteen minutes. It was the longest he'd ever had to wait for a woman in his entire life. If he wasn't completely crazy he probably would've left ages ago.

He half suspected Anna was making him wait on purpose. It was, after all, exactly the kind of thing she'd do to get back at him for being so irresistible to her.

_It ain't my fault if she can't say no to me…_

With a final sigh he switched off the radio, slumped back into his seat and stared blankly into space as the minutes continued to tick by.

_She has just as much of a hold on you as you do on her,_ he lamented silently, frowning up at the dark road, lit by a seemingly endless string of pearly white streetlights. _Dis girl gon' be de death of me one day, I swear it._

It was true that he wasn't used to waiting around this long for women. Usually they'd be clamoring just to get smile and a 'bonjour' out of him, let alone a proper date. He'd always found it rather amusing, and he would've been lying if he said he hadn't abused the fact that women found him irresistibly attractive. In matters of the heart he was shockingly cavalier - a bad boy who never tied himself down to anything more or less than a roll in the haystack and a wink and a kiss - but it was exactly what women found so appealing about him.

That wasn't to say that he never took love seriously, because he did. Very much so. The only thing was, he'd had his heart broken so spectacularly before that he didn't think he'd ever be able to love again. So he figured he might as well do without it. Being able to charm a whole group of women simply by walking into the room had meant he could get away with far more than he realized, and he'd always loved the buzz of playing fast and loose with their hearts. Getting away with it was just a matter of knowing how to play your cards right. And Remy had been - and still was - a master at playing his cards right.

It completely confounded him then, that he was still sitting in his car at twenty past seven in the evening, having been banished there while a certain Southern Belle finally decided to get ready.

There was something kind of humiliating about their relationship. For one thing, the very next morning after finally bedding her, _she'd_ been the one to walk out _him_ without even saying goodbye. For another, he'd been the one to chase her all the way down to Mississippi in a last desperate bid to win her back. Hell, he'd even gone through a temporary bout of insanity and said those dreaded 'three little words' to her - only to be completely rebuffed.

By that point, surely any sane man would've thrown in the towel. But paradoxically, it had made him even more besotted with her.

Then again, Anna Raven always seemed to have that effect on him.

The more she played hard to get, the more he couldn't help chasing. He wasn't even sure what it was he liked about her. She was beautiful and sexy and as passionate as he was, that was for sure. And unlike most women she didn't throw herself at his feet and beg him to make love to her here, now, please, I simply can't wait a moment longer! Nope, she didn't give him any of that. Instead she insulted him. She sassed him. She called him names and even slapped him when he got too close for comfort. She told him exactly what she thought, and she didn't make any bones about it.

It was also plain as day to Remy that she was crazy about him and had been since day one. The first moment they'd met, something had just clicked; the fireworks had gone off with enough charge to put a fourth of July spectacular to shame. Even if he hadn't seen her as anything more than a potential conquest at the time, he'd known she was going to be far more than just the usual piece of skirt. She was his other-half, his soul mate. She seemed to understand everything about him without even trying, and well… well, Remy would like to tell you he could read his winsome Mississippi river rat like the proverbial book.

And did he mention that she was incredibly hot in bed too?

Remy smiled to himself just thinking about that one night they'd shared together. The way Rogue was holding out he didn't think he was ever going to get a repeat experience, and he was very much afraid that by the end of the month he was going to be dead of celibacy.

Just as he was mulling on how disastrous such a fate would be, Anna emerged from her apartment block, still half trailing a high heel behind her. She'd only just managed to pull it on when she finally approached the car.

"Sorry Ah'm late," she apologized breathlessly, yanking the door open and tumbling into the passenger seat. "Ah couldn't find mah earrings."

Normally, such an excuse would've left him spluttering in indignation, but this time round he found he couldn't get a breath out, let alone any words. Dressed in a satin, knee-length halter-neck dress of forest green, and a chic, black velvet jacket, with an elegant chocolate brown scarf twined round her throat, she looked simply delicious. Before he could finally make a suitable comeback she had leaned across and planted a lingering kiss on his lips, purposely affording him a fleeting glimpse of her plunging neckline beforehand.

"No problem, chere," he murmured once the kiss was over. "I t'ink all's forgiven."

The greedy look on his face spoke louder than words as he glanced not so subtly down her cleavage again. With a half-frown, half-smirk, she settled back into her seat, gracefully crossing her mile-long, sheer-stockinged legs. Remy swallowed. What he wouldn't do to have those wrapped round him right now…

"Remy, you're gawpin'!" she snapped at him.

He still couldn't quite unlatch his gaze from her legs as he turned back to the steering wheel. "Uh…sorry."

She narrowed her eyes at him, since he didn't look sorry at all.

"Ah take it you like," she remarked slyly.

"Oh, I'm _very_ appreciative," he returned smoothly, flashing his teeth at her. "But I t'ink I'll like you better in jes' de stockings and de heels."

"Keep wishin', sugah," she replied just as silkily, her eyes glittering dangerously under her lashes. "Your fairy godmother might just come along some day soon."

Remy sincerely hoped that, if it _was_ going to take a fairy godmother for Rogue to get her kit off, she would make a prompt appearance that very night. Turning the key in the ignition, he started up the car. Better to start driving - anything to concentrate on rather than the fact that his 'overactive l'il friend down south' was already starting to express himself.

"Sugah, y'all are sweatin'," Rogue commented when they'd only got so far down the road. "Yah sure you don't want me to drive?"

"Uh… no t'anks."

He didn't think he could handle watching her hand skillfully manipulating the gear stick without getting any more aroused than he was already.

-oOo-

It took us an extra ten minutes to get to the restaurant, seeing as for some reason Remy kept taking the wrong turning on the way there. Luckily he'd had the foresight to reserve a table, because we ended up being half an hour later than we'd originally planned.

We'd actually ended up eating at a quaint little Italian with the traditional candlelit dinner for two. Remy took suspiciously way too much pleasure from feeding me the fresh strawberries over dessert (yes, we ended up eating our dessert from bowls with spoons after all,) and I started to think I was seeing another fetish in the making. Despite all the conversations we've had since we've met, I don't think I'm any closer to understanding the man. He's so skillful at turning the topic away from himself and back onto me. I don't even know if he has any brothers or sisters, or where exactly he was born, or even what he did before he came to L&L. It took me weeks just to beat out the fact that he's 27 years old.

I, on the other hand, had spent the entirety of our meal blathering on about myself, how shit high school had been, what a twat my previous boyfriend Joe was, not to mention the complete life stories of my friends, Jean, Emma and Betsy. Of course, I'd sidestepped the whole Cody issue. Not that I don't trust him or anything, just that it's a part of my life I don't really want to discuss with him yet. Throughout my entire spiel he'd simply sat there and smiled, listening attentively (or so I thought), adding the appropriate comment when it was needed and holding my hand when I was retelling something particularly melodramatic. Still, I couldn't help noticing that every so often his eyes would absently stray towards my cleavage, which left me wondering just how much he'd really been listening to after all.

After dinner, he insisted on taking me out for drinks.

"Are yah tryin' t' get meh drunk?" I demanded of him archly as we stopped outside a small bar in an unknown side street.

"Chere, why would I do dat to you?" he asked with mock offence. He opened the door of the car, stepped out and then popped his head back in, adding: "Remy wants you to be completely conscious when he finally gets you to hisself. So's he can hear you scream for him."

I had the overwhelming urge to 'accidentally' scratch his precious car with my door keys after that one.

We step into the bar, and I can't help but be impressed. From the outside, the _Hideaway_ looks a little dingy and rundown. But on the inside, while in no way ultra modern or ultra sleek, it's welcoming, inviting and full of character. Kind of alternative, but hip enough to attract the rich young twenty-somethings. The place is already pretty full by the looks of it; the music is pounding, the drinks are flowing and the hormones are flying - even though I notice a couple of girls looking up and passing knowing smiles in Remy's direction as soon as we show up. I'm starting to think the female rivalry is something I'm gonna have to get used to fast.

Remy, however, ignores all the attention. He leads me to the bar and helps me onto a barstool with a typically wandering hand, which I slap away before it can get anymore adventurous.

"Can't blame me for tryin', chere," he grins, before slipping my jacket off my shoulders and spending too much time doing it. I involuntarily shiver as his fingers brush against my shoulders and my upper arms. You don't know how much of a battle it is trying to hold out from that man when he's determined to seduce me.

"So the bad penny finally makes an appearance," says a gruff and vaguely familiar voice from the other side of the bar. I look up and find myself face to face with a stout, hairy little man with the physique of a brick house. He's briskly cleaning a glass with a white cloth and glaring at Remy with a half-disapproving, half-humorous expression on his face. Behind me, Remy grins back at the familiar man complacently, but I still can't place him.

"You know what dey say about de bad penny, homme," he remarks easily, "he jes' keeps turnin' up."

"An' that's why I'm never gonna be shot of you," the man grumbles, but there's still a trace of humor in his voice. He places down the glass and casts me an approving glance. "And lemme guess. This is -"

"Anna Raven. Otherwise known as Rogue - a name which she happens to live up to," Remy introduces me, unable to hide the hint of pride in his voice. The man appraises me again and nods, smiling.

"Rogue, eh? Yeah, I remember you from the weddin'."

Remy looks confused, but at the words it suddenly clicks where I've seen him before.

"_You_!" I cry, shocked.

"You know each other?" Remy asks, surprised.

"Only by sight," the other man answers. He turns back to me, looking a little sheepish. "Sorry 'bout what happened with Jeannie. I know I spoiled her day and if it's any consolation to yer… I'm still gonna be feelin' the guilt for a long time yet." He pauses, holds out an awkward hand to me. "The name's Logan. At yer service."

I reach out and take his hand awkwardly, uncertain as to whether to trust him. He _did_ spoil Jean's wedding day after all - but on the other hand, Jean wasn't exactly enthusiastic about marriage, and she _did_ tell me she had feelings for Logan that she no longer had for her ex-husband-to-be, Scott… And so I shake his hand anyway.

"Am I hearin' dis right?" Remy interrupts sardonically. "You're de one who gatecrashed her friend's weddin'?"

"And stopped it right in its tracks," I add pointedly, to which Logan looks shamefaced again. Remy, however, looks impressed. "Whoa. You really liked dat femme, didn't you. Pity she ain't wit' you now, neh?"

Logan and I both seem to have the sudden desire to smack him.

"I hope this punk is treatin' you right, Anna," he addresses me gruffly, glaring venomously at Remy. "Randy little bastard can't be trusted. I could tell you a few stories about him, I could."

"Ah'm sure yah could," I reply sarcastically, glaring fixedly at Remy too.

"Homme, I ain't got not'ing to hide now," Remy replies calmly. "You can tell Anna all you want, don't matter much t' me. S'all in de past."

"Are yah quite sure about that?" I ask him, an eyebrow raised.

"Completely," Remy grins. "Now how 'bout you stop stirrin' up trouble, Logan, and fix us some drinks instead?"

I spend the next hour or so chatting to Remy, sipping as little alcohol as possible, and furtively eyeing up Logan. As I watch him bustling away behind the bar, serving the patrons and bantering with customers, I begin to understand what Jean sees in him. The humor, the spirit, the strength of character, the solidity and sensitivity. I can also tell why she's distanced herself from him the past few weeks. It's gonna take some getting used to his passion and exuberance, especially in her ordered and structured life.

Whatever I may think about Logan, I decide the _Hideaway_ is definitely somewhere I could get used to, and that it'd make a nice venue for girlie outings, if only bringing Jean along would be at best untactful. The people are friendly, the drinks are superb (Logan's an expert with the shaker), and the music's great. And despite all the attention Remy's been attracting, I notice quite a few guys giving me the once-over as well, which kinda makes me feel better about all the jealous looks being thrown my way. Remy, however, doesn't seem even slightly jealous when he notices the male competition. In fact he has the smuggest look on his face I've ever seen, which is definitely saying something.

"Looks like you're a hit, chere," he notes with amusement over his bourbon.

"Looks like you are too," I reply dryly. "Ah take it these are old huntin' grounds? From the looks of things some of the gals here know you already."

He smiles easily.

"Everyone round here knows me, chere. But don't worry," he places a hand on the small of my back and rubs me lightly, "you know I only got eyes for one lady in dis place."

"Y'all have got more than just 'eyes' for her, sugah," I murmur reproachfully when his hand wanders a bit too far for comfort.

"Y'noticed?" he grins suggestively. I smirk and remove his hand from my butt.

"Any gal with blood runnin' in her veins woulda figured it out by now," I pout. Unfazed, his hand wanders up from my butt to caress my pout with a forefinger. "You're cute when you get jealous," he teases me.

"Who says Ah'm jealous?" I reply hotly when he moves his hand to tug at a loose lock of my hair.

"Your eyes do, chere," he smiles at me. "But it's okay. A man likes to know when he's appreciated."

I frown at him. "You mean t'tell me _you_ aren't jealous?" But his smile just widens.

"A man also likes to know when his femme's appreciated too. Makes him realize just how lucky he is."

He holds my gaze, and despite his same old cocky smile I can tell how serious he actually is.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" I murmur. "Isn't there _anythin'_ that gets under your skin?"

"_You_ do," he replies without missing a beat.

"Is that so?" I raise an eyebrow at him and reach out to playfully rearrange his collar. "Looks like we're even then, huh, sugah?"

A little later Remy leaves for the little boy's room, and I sit idly, running a finger over the rim of my margarita and licking the salt absently off my fingers. Ever since I've been occupied with Remy, I've neglected to ask Jean how she's really feeling about the mess her wedding turned out to be. I feel a little guilty about that, especially since Jean went to so much trouble to look after me when I was down.

"Can I getcha another?"

I glance up to see Logan standing beside me again. I half-smile and shake my head.

"No thanks. Ah don't wanna give Remy any excuses…"

"Hrmph." Logan's mouth twists into a disapproving grimace. "He _is_ treatin' you right, isn't he?"

"Depends on what your definition of 'right' is," I reply with a small laugh. "But yes - Ah'd have t' say he is."

"Well, if he gives you any trouble, don't hesitate to call me," Logan offers roughly. "If you ask me, that Cajun needs a dressin' down, and I'd be more than happy to give it to him."

I crease my brow, a little nonplussed at Logan's eagerness to help me out. Could it be something to do with being a friend of Jean's?

"Ah think Ah can take care of mahself just fine," I reply. "But thanks for the offer anyway."

There's a short silence before he suddenly opens his mouth and asks: "Is Jean… is she okay?"

I'm a little stunned by the abruptness of his question, but there's such emotion behind his voice that I can't help but feel sorry for him.

"She's fine," I answer shortly. "Jean's a resilient gal, Mr. Logan. She'll make it through."

He smiles. "I know," he replies. I half expect him to ask me to pass a message to her, but he seems completely satisfied knowing she's okay, and wanders off to the other end of the bar again. I'm left sitting there, mulling over this latest incident when Remy finally turns up.

"Hmm, looks like you're outta juice," he remarks with his usual sultry smile as he observes my empty cocktail glass. "Wanna refill?"

I pull a face at him. "How about no?"

"Aw, well, can't blame me for tryin'." He pauses as he sees my rather downcast look. "Somet'ing tells me it's time we should go."

"If yah don't mind," I say, already sliding off the stool.

"Non, not if y' want t' go." He helps me put my jacket back on and casually throws a tip into the bowl, before we finally go out. By now it's half ten and the temperature's practically sub-zero. I shiver as we step out onto the sidewalk.

"So," Remy begins casually as we walk towards the car, "how about stoppin' over at my place and grabbin' de proverbial coffee?"

I never knew how difficult it is to scowl and shiver at the same time until that moment.

"Why do Ah get the feelin' that 'stopping over' isn't nearly as innocent as it sounds?"

"Chere," he draws his arm round my shoulder and pulls me a little closer to him, seeing how cold I am, "I've fulfilled all your crazy requirements and it's drivin' me insane. Come on, I must've passed de test by now!"

I say nothing, inwardly trying not to laugh as I see the desperation on his face. He sees the smile breaking on my face and stops, swiveling me round to face him.

"Oh right? So dis amuses you, huh? Is dis your way of gettin' back at me for all de times I messed wit' your head? Because chere, I've already said I'm sorry…"

He looks so woebegone I can't help it. I grab a hold of his coat and pull him towards me, feeling the warmth of his body dispel the cold around me.

"Ah know," I drawl seductively. "But sorry ain't enough, sugah. Ah want yah to feel thoroughly chastened first. And from the way you've been actin' t'night, Ah don't think you're even halfway towards bein' chastened enough."

I love that look on his face, the one he gives when he can't work out the mixed signals I'm sending him. So I up the ante by pressing myself even closer against him and daring him to work it out. He lets out a soft groan at the close contact.

"I'm gonna go crazy without you, chere…" he says, finally giving in and wrapping his arms round my waist.

"Without me?" I can't resist teasing him further. "We've been seeing each other every day since we first got t'gether…"

But he refuses to hear anymore.

"Do I haveta spell it out to you?" he murmurs, his eyes literally burning into mine. "I wanna ravish you senseless, chere. De past week all I've been t'inkin' about is pinning you up against a wall and havin' my wicked way with you…"

I giggle wickedly under my breath and run a finger lightly across his cheek. I have a funny feeling his fantasies have been a lot more X-rated than that.

"Well, when yah put it _that_ way…" I breathe, trailing off purposefully. He smiles then, that same smile that never fails to melt me, and even if I'd been intending to toy with him, there's no way I can resist him now. "Yah know, all of a sudden Ah could really do with that cup of coffee…"

"I only offer de best in town," he assures me in a sexy undertone. I chuckle and tickle his lips with my forefinger.

"Uh huh?"

"Uh huh." He opens his lips, licks his tongue round my finger, sucking it right into his mouth before letting it go again.

"Mmm, salty, chere," he notes with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Just what were you doin' while Remy was in de bathroom?"

I stare right back at him, and this time I don't even have to think about playing along.

"Nothin' compared t' what Ah'm goin' t' do t' _you_, sugah" I promise him.

-xXx-

It was the perfect morning.

Outside the sun was shining and the birds were singing. True, it was winter, but the cold was safely consigned to the outdoors as Remy lay in bed and languidly watched the beautiful, green-eyed goddess emerge from the bathroom, toweling dry her tousled brown locks, whilst wearing nothing more than one of his old shirts and a pair of gray sweat pants. He didn't remember ever having looked half as good in them as she did now.

"Got a hairdryer?" the goddess asked in a deep and unconsciously sexy Southern drawl.

"Ummm… nope," he replied, his mind more occupied with the considerable charms of his goddess than with her need for a hairdryer.

"Men," she sighed in a tone he'd heard more than once already. He expected he was going to hear it a lot more often in the future, but from this particular vantage point, he didn't really care.

It was Sunday. The two lovers had been in bed the past 24 hours, and Remy wouldn't have objected to spending another 24 in exactly the same place. Rogue, however, didn't really appreciate the idea of spending the whole weekend being anyone's love slave. She already figured that she'd given him more than his fair share of loving and asking for anymore would be just plain greedy.

So she sat on the edge of the bed and continued to towel her hair dry with her back to him. Her hair was curlier when wet. He liked it.

"You're beautiful," he told her.

"You ain't gettin' no more," she snapped at him, thinking he was angling for something less than innocent.

"Don't want no more sex, chere," he joked. "Otherwise I get bored, non? We only got another 20 positions left t' try out."

She lowered the towel and glared at him over her shoulder.

"You're disgustin', swamp rat!"

He pouted. He didn't remember her waking up on the wrong side of the bed that morning. In fact she'd been very affectionate.

"Remy's only jokin'," he replied in a wounded tone of voice. "What'd I do t' make you so mad?"

The only reply he got was a grumpy 'hmph' from her direction. He half suspected it was because she'd given into him so easily on Friday night, even after all that fencing with one another. And by now he knew that Rogue hated giving anything away to anyone without a fight. It was one of the many qualities he admired in her - amongst many others.

Seeing she was in no mood for banter, he sighed, lay back and twiddled his thumbs, waiting for her to succumb. At moments like these, laying on the charm was the worst thing to coax her out of a mood, so he kept quiet. She lasted all of about three minutes. Throwing her towel petulantly into a corner, she swung back up onto the bed, snuggled up to him and declared woefully: "Ah hate yah, Cajun!"

"I know," he replied indulgently, knowing she really meant to say the exact opposite. For a few moments, neither said anything, letting their thoughts wander.

"What are we gonna do 'bout the Christmas party?" she finally asked in a low voice.

"What about it?" he asked absently, his mind still elsewhere. She gave another irritated sigh and says: "No one knows we're t'gether, stoopid! Jean-Paul will have a fit when he finds out! So will Monet. And as for everyone else… it will confirm what they already think."

"_What_ do they t'ink?" he asked, confused. He wasn't aware of anyone thinking anything untoward about her. To him she was just about perfect in every way (apart from her tendency to fly into a rage at the slightest provocation). It looked like his reply had already put her on the boil, for she sat up and glared at him as ferocious as a tiger. He had to consciously stop himself from grinning. He liked it when she got angry.

"Where've you been the past few months, you yutz! Mars!" She paused and bit her lip before she continued in a lower voice: "Thanks to Monet's rumors, they all think Ah'm a whore."

Well, he hadn't been expecting _that. _Okay, so he knew Monet was a bitch, but he never thought her backbiting was _that_ vicious.

"You? A _whore_? Dose girls can talk. Dey be de worst hoes I've ever -" He halted quickly, but not quick enough to avoid a punch on the chest from his loving girlfriend. It was half-playful, but hurt enough for him to wince. Still, he figured he deserved it.

"Ah don't wanna hear another word, Remy!" she exclaimed bitterly. "It's okay for you! If there was evah a whore at L&L it's you, but of course men always get away with it! Hell, y'all are even cheered and applauded for it! Ah never did anythin' wrong - except maybe slip up once. Which was a mistake, by the way!" she reminded him for the umpteenth time, as if that little misadventure didn't count - which he happened to think it did. "And on account of that _one_ single mistake, and Monet thinkin' she's found it out, Ah'm now the office harlot! It ain't fair!" she continued to rant, "How comes you're allowed to mess around during office hours, in full sight of anyone who happens t' come across yah, and Ah get looked at funny if Ah even so much as talk to yah! Where's the justice in that!"

Remy pondered, or appeared to. Normally he would've made a fine joke of the whole thing, if he hadn't realized just how much the whole scenario upset his Southern Belle. Not that he could blame her at all. He just didn't know how serious it really was.

"Den we go to de party as a couple," he finally shrugged. "We go t'gether, and I say t' everyone 'hello everybody, dis is Anna and she's my girlfriend and I love her, and she's a good, honest women who never did nothin' wrong.' Dere. How does dat sound?"

Contrary to expectation, Rogue looked horrified.

"_What_! Jean-Paul will _kill_ us! He could transfer me to another department! Or even fire me!"

Her statement is so ludicrous that this time he couldn't help laughing.

"Why de hell would JP wanna do dat?"

"Think about it, Remy. Every company's worst nightmare is lovers. They ruin things! Destroy whole projects from within! It's business ethics, Remy! Everyone knows it! Office romances have to be nipped - crushed! - in the bud before they can be allowed to escalate!"

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her so animated. Apart from last night, that was.

"Well I never had any trouble wit' it befo-" he protested, only to be silenced by another whack to the chest.

"We have to keep it secret!" Rogue insisted, ignoring his comment as if he'd never made it.

Remy creased his brow in confusion. By now it was a complete mystery to him as to what his beloved Anna really wanted. Did she want to keep their affair a secret? Or did she want to have them announced as a real, official couple? One thing he'd never been able to understand about women was why they had such an overwhelming urge to make things so complicated.

"Rogue," he finally began as calmly as he could, "I'm sure all dis worry is completely unnecessary. Jean-Paul likes you. He's mon ami. And b'tween you and me, he knows dere's somet'ing goin' on b'tween us."

"He _what_!" Rogue shouted shrilly again.

"Relax, chere," Remy soothed her, brushing a wet lock of white hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. "He don't know de whole story, but dat homme's intrigue-sensors are about as sharp as a bloodhound's. He knows we got somet'ing, dat's for sure. It's chemistry, chere. Sparks, fireworks, mojo, romance. He laps it up like it's fairy dust."

She laughed then, and he knew he didn't have to worry about being slapped on the chest again anymore.

"So he won't object to…us?" she asked hopefully, saying the word as if she were only just getting used to it.

"I doubt it," he answered smilingly. "But I'll have a private word wit' him, d'accord? You let Remy sort dis out."

"D'accord," she returned prettily, before leaning in for a kiss. Remy was inwardly quite pleased with himself for having so skillfully diffused the situation. He didn't remember females being _quite_ this high-maintenance, but the kiss she bestowed him with was well worth the effort.

"By the way," she asked, once they reluctantly pulled away, "Ah was wonderin'. You know that weddin' invitation yah got a few months back?"

Well, that was unexpected. He frowned.

"Yup," he said dubiously.

"From Belle, right?" she asked falteringly, seeing his troubled look.

He nodded. The past few weeks it was something he'd completely forgotten about…

"You thinkin' of goin'?" she quizzed.

The question surprised him. Then, after a moment, he let out a short laugh.

"Why? You t'inkin' of comin' too? So I can show off my gorgeous new girl?"

She grinned cheekily.

"Somethin' like that."

"Well," he said thoughtfully, running his fingers through her hair again. "I dunno… Guess I'll haveta t'ink about it first. T'ing is, Belle's a part of my past I'm not sure I really want to revisit…"

He trailed off and her eyes softened.

"Ah understand," she said.

"I know," he murmured, pulling her down for another kiss. She obliged, then pulled away and slid off the bed.

"Ah'm starvin'," she stated. "Gonna make myself some breakfast. You comin'?"

"I'll be down in a minute," he replied. "But while you're at it, why don't you make me a coffee, chere?"

She stood up, stuck her tongue out at him and sashayed out of the room without another word.

Remy pillowed his arms behind his head to get a better view of her shapely butt before she finally disappeared out of sight.

Yup - if this was a dream, he hoped he never had to wake up again.

-oOo-

Remy emerges from the bedroom much later, while I'm in the kitchen cooking breakfast and humming a bluesy tune to myself. While I'm frying the eggs he steals up behind me with a stealthy silence that would put any ninja to shame. I start only briefly as he wraps his arms round my waist and buries his face against my back. His embrace is too warm, too delicate to startle me for long. I delight in the thrill that his touch sends across my bare skin. It's been too long since I ever felt a touch that tender and loving.

"Did you make my coffee?" he asks huskily in my ear, making the whole mundane sentence sound strangely sexy. I shiver and reply in a thick voice: "S'back there."

He let's go of me, unwrapping his arms slowly from me with the promise of more later. After he grabs his coffee, he hovers over my shoulder again to watch me cooking, pulls a face, and sidles off to the dinner table.

"What?" I ask him, nettled at the disapproving look he'd just cast me.

"You're doin' it all wrong," he throws flippantly over his shoulder, standing over the table and opening up the newspaper. Gawd, that man looks a sight in his tight T-shirt and ripped jeans. It's almost criminal.

"Ah know how t' make French toast, thank yah very much!" I huff, trying not to get too distracted by the sight of those gorgeous Cajun buns of his.

"You gotta dip de bread in de egg first, not fry de eggs together wit' de bread all in one go," he rebukes me playfully. I look down at my handiwork still frying in the pan, wondering what exactly I'm doing wrong. This is how I've always made French toast, goddammit! Irene never complained. Neither did Cody, for that matter!

"Go to hell!" I proclaim at last, feeling strangely defensive since I'm a woman and he's a man, and what the hell does a man know about cooking! Apart from that cute Naked Chef, that is. Remy looks over his shoulder at me and simply shrugs good-naturedly.

"So how come I never get to spend time round your apartment?" he asks casually instead.

"What are yah, blind?" I exclaim in disbelief. "Mah place looks like a bomb shelter! Ain't no way Ah'm gonna let yah hang round mah mess! It's embarrassin'!"

"You seem to clean up after y'self well enough," he notes.

"Yeah, _here_ Ah do," I brood. "It's easy t' be neat an' tidy in other people's houses, but for some reason, Ah can't seem to be the same in mah own." I lower my voice. "Guess Ah just had other things on mah mind than keepin' mah place in order."

"Mebbe I could come round and help you out?" he offers.

"Gee, yeah, 'cos Ah'd just love ta see yah on yah knees and shirtless, scrubbin' out mah oven," I retort sarcastically. "Not that Ah use the stupid thing anyway."

"Was dat comment sarcastic or for real?" he asks, turning to me with an amused smile on his face.

"You wish it was for real," I reply caustically, dishing out the French toast violently onto their plates. Remy simply continues to grin at me, knowing the truth of the matter anyway. _Damn that infuriatingly handsome Cajun!_

"'Cos y'know, chere…" he continues, unable to let it lie. "Dat whole li'l scenario _could_ be arranged…"

"Save it," I snap before I can change my mind. I swing over to the dining table and place down our breakfasts. Remy looks down at the toast and pulls another face, but says nothing when I shoot him a warning glance. There's nothing for it but for him to sit down with a helpless expression.

I tuck into breakfast and fall into thinking about my pigsty of an apartment. It's something that's been on my mind a lot recently, and I simply can't bear to face it. It's getting to the point where Jean, Emma and Betsy are refusing to step within a ten metre radius of the place, and the thought of bringing Remy there leaves me mortified. But then again, the state the kitchen's in, I figure I'll be needing some male assistance anyway…

I look up at Remy to take him up on his previous offer, and see him munching slowly on his breakfast as if someone had forced him to eat slugs or something.

"What?" I question him, worried. He swallows painfully before answering.

"What did you put in dis?"

_Oh, so he's makin' another dig at mah cookin'!_

"Duh!" I scowl at him, bristling. "Only what usually goes in French toast!"

He looks down at the food on the plate as if it were about to sprout legs and walk off the table. What the hell is this! I stare down at my plate, but all I see is the same old French toast I've always made.

"Well, mine tastes fine," I say defensively.

"Y' must have a stomach coated wit' lead," he mutters under his breath, thinking I can't hear him. I decide to ignore him and let him get on with it. Stupid male chauvinist pig! I'll teach him to complain about a woman's cooking! If he hates it so much, I'd like to see him cook his own damned dinner once in a while!

By the time we've both finished neither of us have said a word, we're both so out of sorts. Remy looks as if he's ready to clean his mouth out with soap and non-biological detergent for good measure. I simply pick up the plates and bang them into the dishwasher, inwardly fuming at his total lack of appreciation. _Ingrate!_

Afterwards Remy disappears, no doubt to wash out his mouth, and I plump myself in front of the sofa and switch on the TV. As usual there's absolutely nothing worth watching on a Sunday morning, so I end up idly flipping through the channels anyway. How can there be so many channels and not a single decent thing to watch? Why bother paying for such mindless drivel in the first place?

My mind falls back on Remy, and how he'd somehow managed to entice me back to his apartment and his bed. Which, I might add, we practically hadn't left until this morning. My singular lack of restraint where that man is concerned irritates me no end. It's like all he has to do is smile at me and I succumb to his charms. When I think about how he makes me feel as if I'm the only woman alive on this planet, it makes me wonder how I even managed to hold out against him for all that time in the first place. Perhaps I really am as overwhelmingly stubborn as everyone seems to think I am.

Still, I can't help the feeling that I'd allowed him to have his way with me, (much as I'd enjoyed being the center of his _very_ devoted attention), and I don't like that feeling one little bit.

While I'm ruminating over all this, Remy returns and seats himself on the sofa next to me, slinging his arm round my shoulder like nothing's happened. This only causes me to fume even more. I even start to wonder why I'd so desperately wanted a man in the first place. Stupid men!

We're three minutes into an old rerun of _Buffy_ when he predictably starts angling for something more. First he edges closer, inch by inch, and finally aims for a kiss on my neck. I dodge his lips, so that his kiss lands somewhere on my upper arm. He thinks I'm being playful and aims again. I brush him off with my hand.

"You ain't gettin' no more!" I huff at him.

"Why, what've I done now?" he asks, sounding genuinely puzzled. Geez, are men _always_ this dumb!

"Ugh! Get a clue, Cajun!"

It does the trick. He backs off, but only with a lot of pouting and a lot of reluctance. A minute later he says: "You ain't still mad about breakfast, are you?"

_Grrrr…_

"Gee, yah think?" I reply sarcastically, arms crossed and glaring at the TV.

"Rogue…" he begins in a pacifying yet entirely unconvincing tone of voice. "Breakfast was…delicious."

"Well, yah could've fooled me!" I snap.

He backs off again, thoroughly chastened. It takes him a grand total of five minutes before he's at it again. Next I feel his arm scaling across the back of the couch, trying to ring my shoulder. By now this is more than I can stand. So I simply leap up from the sofa, leaving him to topple over behind me.

"Right, that's it!" I exclaim, going into the hallway and grabbing at my coat and keys before heading for the front door. He follows me, a look of desperation and confusion on his face.

"Where de hell you goin'?"

"Where does it look like! Home!" I seethe back at him, reaching for the door handle. But he preempts me, pulling my hand away from it and swiveling me round to face him.

"Just what de hell am I s'pposed to have done!" he demands, a little angry as well as bewildered now, but I'm in no mood for sympathy.

"How about bein' a male chauvinist pig?" I shout back at him.

"What, over your cookin'?" He looks half relieved, half like he's about to burst into laughter. I scowl at him.

"Go on, say it! Y'all think mah cookin' sucks, dontcha! Mah cookin' ain't good enough for yah, isn't it!"

"Chere… I already said it, breakfast was fine. We gonna argue about somet'ing as stupid as dis?"

"You insulted mah cookin'!" I shriek, ignoring him.

"Rogue, how many times do I haveta tell y'…"

"…And then y'all cozy up t' meh as if nothin's happened, like Ah was just gonna letcha run rings round meh all over again…!"

"…Honestly, I didn't _know_ you were still mad at me, I t'ought all was forgiven…"

"…Well Ah'd like t' see yah do the cookin' for once, mistah! Who'll be laughin' then, huh!"

"…Rogue, dis is ridiculous, chere…"

I don't care if it is anymore. I jerk open the door, and, with a last shout of _goodbye!_, I slam it back in his face before he can get another word in.

-xXx-

_To be continued..._


	3. Operation Humiliation

**Disclaimer:** All characters contained herein belong to Marvel and not to us.

**Note: **Whoa. These chapters are turning out to be WAY longer than expected... we hope that's a good thing. Anyway, onto the review replies... **Dr. Breifs Cat**: First off, thanks so much for reviewing. Your opinions are greatly prized by Ludi. :) And thanks for the insightful comments. Even though this is a more Romy-based fic, the other girls will be making an appearance fairly soon. Also, no, Remy won't be based entirely on the sex, and as for Rogue... I guess she's feeling defensive about her love-life since things have gone so badly for her in the past. I don't want to probe too deeply into the characterssince this is meant to be a humorous fic. We'll try to work on your suggestions though. ;p **illyria4747**: I think you're right. In a way Rogue does feel unworthy of a happy relationship after all the crap she's gone through, but I think she will be changing her mind and behaving herself pretty soon. :) **IvyZoe** You hit the nail right on the head there. Rogue is definitely more angry at herself than at Remy. I guess she has a bit of a victim psychology. :p But great idea with the Logan stuff! We didn't think of that! We'll see what we can do... And to everyone else - wait and see what happens with the cooking thing. You know it's gonna happen. ;)

Now on with the story!

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**Little By Little**

**(3) Operation Humiliation**

Predictably, I spend the rest of Sunday afternoon fuming in my apartment.

The phone keeps ringing and from the caller display I can tell it's Remy. Voice messages pile up on my answer phone, but I'm so incensed that after listening to the first one (general pleadings of me to come back, that he loves me, and that I am, in fact, the world's most wonderful chef), I end up deleting them all.

In fact, I'm so mad at him that I'm finally motivated into cleaning my apartment. I throw dishes into the dishwasher as if I'm throwing them at him. I viciously scrub the walls of my bathroom as if I could scrub away his face from my mind. None of this is helped by the fact that I'd walked out of his place still wearing his clothes, and I can still smell him all around me. For some reason though, I can't bear to change into anything else, so I end up walking round the apartment in them, periodically tripping over his gray sweatpants as I go along.

By four in the afternoon, my place is gleaming, but I'm feeling miserable. While I was cleaning, the phone had been ringing at odd intervals, which I'd ignored. I go to the nearby bookshelf and pick up a random romance, before flopping down on the sofa and leafing through it. Hardly a single word of it penetrates my brain. All I can think of is him…

Growling, I throw aside the book and end up pacing the floor, trying desperately to stay mad at him. Then I stop and stand in my cold and lonely lounge, staring at the phone. The red light of the answer phone is flashing at me, and I'm reminded of his gorgeous eyes, the way they stare right into mine and strip away all my defenses… I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks as I recall exactly what he'd done to me all weekend…

I run to the phone and press the play button.

"Rogue, are you deletin' my messages?" my lover's slightly irate voice filters through the speakers. "You are, aren't you? Chere, dis is ridiculous. You're bein' completely stupid about a complete and utter not'ing. How many times d'you want me to say sorry to you? How many times d'you want me to get down on my knees and beg for your forgiveness, because I've already done it about fifteen times, and if all you're gonna do is delete my messages, how de hell am I supposed to get t'rough to you? I swear my male ego isn't gonna be able t' take much more and -"

I stab the delete button before he can finish, steam pouring out of my ears again.

_Male ego? MALE EGO! Ah'll male ego him!_

I'm about to storm off and find another piece of fungus or mould to launch an attack on when the phone suddenly goes off again.

_Right, that does it!_

I whip the handset out of its cradle in a fury.

"_Go away_!" I bellow down the line.

"Rogue," a light female voice, full of laughter, calmly answers my shriek, "you have _got_ to work on your people skills."

It takes me half a second to realize my mistake.

"Jean!"

"The one and only. Unless it really _was_ me you meant to shout down the line at, in which case I'll hang up right now."

"Uh - no!" I exclaim quickly, relieved that it's her, yet somewhat ashamed at my behavior. "Ah'm sorry, Jean, Ah thought you were R-… Ah mean, one of those annoyin' telemarketers…"

"Uh-huh?" she's only half buying it. "I've been trying to phone you the past hour, and you've been mostly engaged. And when I finally do get through, you're not picking up. Care to share?"

"It's nothin'," I say quickly. "But how about you? It's been _ages_ since we last got t'gether…"

"Oh, I'm fine," Jean replies brightly. "Just a little lonely, that's all. My apartment's so boring when I'm on my own during the weekends. I was hoping we could have gone out yesterday, but it looks like you were occupied." She finishes on an expectant note, and there's nothing for it but to confess.

"Uh…yeah… Ah spent the weekend at Remy's. Sorry about that Jean."

She laughs.

"Don't apologize. I'd rather you spent time getting to know your new man than with boring old me. But then I'm guessing that you two didn't get a lot of talking done?"

I begin to blush again.

"Well, yah could say that's Remy all over… No talk and all action…"

"Ohhhh." Jean can barely hide the amusement in her voice. "Well, at least I know _one_ of us was having fun this weekend."

"Hmph. Yeah," I mutter. I can't help but be annoyed with myself for giving into his charms so easily. I'd intended to hold out a lot longer after all. I don't know what that man does to me, I honestly don't.

"Rogue, why are you grumbling?" Jean asks, hearing my morose tone. "I thought he was _the one_. Don't tell me you're having second thoughts?"

I say nothing for a while. Second thoughts? Far from it. All he'd have to do is look at me and I'd be a slave to his every whim all over again.

"Jean?" I finally blurt out in one big breath. "Just what is it with men and their male egos!"

There's a pause as Jean silently weighs up the sentence.

"Oh no," she finally voices in concern. "Just what did that man do to you, Rogue?"

"He-he-" I pause as I realize just how ludicrous the next sentence is going to sound, but I take the plunge anyway. "He insulted mah cookin'!" I cry indignantly. I'm all set to hear long-winded words of sympathy; but to my surprise, Jean bursts into violent laughter.

"Oh, so y'all think it's funny too, do yah!" I snap.

"Well, Rogue…" I can almost imagine Jean wiping the tears from her eyes at this stage. "You've never really been known for your culinary skills, have you?"

I scowl. Jean's statement is very diplomatic, considering the fact that I gave her food poisoning once when it was my turn to cook the Thanksgiving meal. Needless to say, the girls haven't allowed me to do it since.

"Yes, but he's a _man_, Jean. Since when has a man had the right to complain about a woman's cooking?"

"Umm… Since Jamie Oliver started tossing salads on TV…"

"Yes, but he's a famous chef! Remy, however, is just a man, and what Ah cook him is what he gets!"

"Rogue, did you two have an argument about this?"

I splutter for a moment. Now that I've had time to sit around my boring apartment and think about it, I have to agree that it has to be one of the more absurd arguments I've ever had with a man in my life.

"Okay, okay!" I finally cry. "We had an argument and I walked out of his place! And yes, Ah know it's completely stupid, but it isn't the only reason Ah'm mad at him! Just because he reckons he's God's gift to women he thinks he can charm me out of bein' mad at him! Ah swear, after he ungraciously ate mah breakfast, he was tryin' to snuggle up t' meh as if nothin' had happened! Idiot Cajun!" I add vehemently as I remember the way he'd attempted to 'make up' with me. Hearing just how annoyed I really am, Jean wisely refrains from laughing this time.

"Rogue, surely you should know by now that men have a hard time figuring out when we're mad at them," she reasons with me. "And to be fair, you were arguing about such a little thing, he probably didn't expect you to be angry for long."

"But Jean, that's not the point! The point is, he thinks he can get one over meh through judicious use of his charms! He thinks all he has t' do is give me a wink and a kiss and Ah'm putty in his hands! It's not fair! Ah mean, Ah bet Scott never once did the same thing to -- oh, Jean, Ah'm sorry, Ah didn't mean t' come out with that…"

It's only been a couple of weeks since Jean jilted Scott at the altar after all, and of course, stupid old me has to open my big mouth and remind her about the whole sorry affair. It's true though. Scott was about as far as a man could get from Remy. Responsible, respectable and unwaveringly sensible, he treated Jean with a degree of reverence distinctly lacking in my wayward Cajun lover.

"Forget about it," Jean assures me in an undertone. "I understand what you mean. But if I had to be frank, I'd rather have Remy than Scott any day. Temperament-wise, I mean. I'm bored to death of responsible men. I'd rather have someone who challenges me than agrees with everything I say."

"You say that now," I mumble sarcastically, "when y'all don't have a man t' chivvy you around anymore." For some reason I don't want to elaborate on the matter. I'm suddenly reminded of the meeting I'd had with Logan on Friday night, and the way he'd so awkwardly asked how Jean was doing. I wonder just how Jean's still feeling about the Canadian bartender. I half consider telling her how he'd asked after her, and how guilty he was feeling about the fiasco at the wedding, but I decide not to. It's too soon after her break-up with Scott for her to be worrying about another man, however much she may or may not care about it. So for once I hold my tongue.

"Listen, Jean, since Ah have absolutely nothin' t' do for the rest of the day except sit here and silently curse Remy, why don't y'all come on over and we can carry on talkin' in person? Only it's so much more int'restin' over a glass of wine and a tub of Ben and Jerry's than it is over the phone."

Jean cheers up considerably at the suggestion.

"I thought you'd never ask! How about I bring round some pizza too, while I'm at it?"

"So you can avoid getting food poisoned by me, yah mean?" I note archly.

"Rogue, bumming in front of the TV and moaning about men is not the same without the prerequisite junk food," she replies tactfully, true to her nature. "Isn't it strange though, how we're having a bit of a role reversal? You're the one with the man now, and I'm the frustrated singleton."

"Hmph. Y'all don't sound as upset as Ah thought you'd be."

"Darling, after being with a man for five years, I'm relishing every moment of this freedom. But don't worry, Rogue. It sounds as if Remy will keep making things exciting for you."

Yeah, don't I know it.

"Well, I'll see you soon then," she ploughs on. "Just don't forget to crack open that bottle of wine while I'm on my way."

"Ah won't. See yah soon, Jeannie!"

"See yah!"

I place the phone down and glare at the red light still flashing. Having listened to Jean's wise words, I end up feeling sorry for Remy despite myself, and so I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt and I press the play button again. Out comes his voice again, and this time there's no pleading, no begging, no desperation. Instead he sounds like a man on a mission.

"Rogue, dis is it. I dunno how many times you want me to humiliate myself in front of you, so if you're still angry at me, you leave me wit' no choice. You wan' play rough, we play rough. Dis is all-out war, chere, I mean it. You can carry on ignorin' me all you want, but I'm warnin' you, I'm gonna make you suffer. I'm gonna really punish you, chere, and you ain't gonna like it. I hate t' haveta do dis t' you, but by de end of de day you'll see I was right. De venue: Work tomorrow, at L&L. De time: war commences at 9 a.m. Prime objective: first one who makes it t'rough tomorrow without jumpin' de other is de winner. De rules: dere are none. Judicious use of pain and pleasure allowed." He pauses, and I stare at the phone in disbelief, wondering just how long it's taken him to come up with all this garbage. "Sorry, chere, but I ain't gonna go easy on you. Don't say I didn't warn you."

The phone bleeps. End of message. I glower at the phone, hit the 'delete' button, and crack my knuckles.

Right. If he wants a war, a war is exactly what he's gonna get!

-oOo-

I breeze back work on Monday morning with an entire battle strategy worked out in my head. Jean and I had even had fun discussing just how I was going to have Remy drooling at my feet by the end of the day. Naturally, the first line of attack would be to ignore him very poignantly indeed. This, of course, means blanking him completely when he's in my presence, and avoiding him at every opportunity. An important method of defense also means keeping an eagle eye on him in the meantime - just to see that he's behaving himself. Okay, and _maybe_ just to see whether he's feeling the effects of my ignoring powers after all.

Don't get me wrong. I've given up being mad at him about our little tiff on Sunday - the one about the breakfast. If anything I'm feeling a little guilty for overreacting so much and walking out on him. He was right - our argument was completely ridiculous - but on the other hand, the way that man expects me to fall for his charms every time he tries it on is also completely ridiculous. I'm not one of those idiot floozies who'll immediately do his bidding whenever he switches on the mojo. If he wants to end arguments by using underhand methods such as his innate sex appeal, he has another thing coming.

That's why I've decided to put him through a mini version of hell - Rogue style.

I walk onto the thirty-fifth floor with a confident step, wearing my sexy red suit and making sure my blouse is open enough to show a generous amount of cleavage. As I walk over to my cube everyone stares at me. Someone wolf-whistles and I smile haughtily to myself, taking the opportunity to glance over at Remy's office while tossing my hair over one shoulder. He's standing at his window, ogling me just like every other man in a 10-meter radius. I sashay right past his window without once looking at him, hoping he's sweating hard. Okay, so this is easy enough, I think, until I bump into Roberto Da Costa and the contents of my purse tumble onto the floor.

"Oops!" I say, bending down to pick everything up. _Dammit! Only five minutes into Operation Humiliation_ _and you've already destroyed the illusion!_

"I'm sorry, Anna, I didn't see you coming…"

I'm finally aware of Roberto in front of me, bending down to assist me. I stare up at him, only to find his eyes not on my face, but on my breasts, which are literally popping out of my blazer. Pink circles form on my cheeks as I steal a glance in Remy's direction. He's still watching me, a narrow-eyed expression on his face.

"Uh… No harm done, Rob, Ah wasn't really lookin' where Ah was goin' either…"

All my objects safely back in my bag, I hastily stand up. Roberto places a hand on the small of my back when I wobble on my heels, and doesn't move it away when I'm finally standing upright.

"You're looking nice today," he comments, trying to look as unconcerned as possible, when I know he really wants to say _you're looking hot today_. The fact that he's still staring at my breasts is a dead give-away. I can only give a mirthless laugh and say: "thanks."

He smiles back at me and reluctantly removes his hand, which has been straying a little too close to my butt for comfort.

"Well… see you later," he says at last.

"See yah," I answer in a rush, praying for him to go. Luckily he doesn't hang around and leaves with a final wave. I heave a sigh of relief and glance quickly at Remy again. He's still at the window, a devilish little smile on his face as our eyes finally meet. He nods at me once as if to say _nice one, but nowhere near good enough._

I can't glower enough in return.

_We'll see, Cajun, we'll see._

I sneak the finger at him and stalk off.

-xXx-

Remy slumped back at his desk with a diabolical smirk on his face as he mused over Rogue's gratuitous little tableau.

_Very good, chere. Very good indeed. Hopin' t' make me jealous, were you? Well, two can play at dat game._

He steepled his fingers together, thinking hard. He'd have to be as stealthy as possible of course - she'd be expecting him to make his move now, and he still wanted to catch her off guard. It amused him that she'd actually taken the bait he'd sent her by way of the voice message, because they both knew that this was a game he couldn't lose. But Rogue was a temperamental little spitfire, and inwardly he'd known that she wouldn't have been able to resist rising to the challenge. He didn't doubt for a moment that she'd already forgiven him over yesterday (not that he considered there was much to forgive anyway), but that she was determined to string out his punishment a little more if she could.

_Dat femme's got a really pronounced sadistic streak_, he thought standing up again and walking to the window. Rogue was, however, nowhere to be seen. _Lucky for me I find dat kinda hot in a woman. And everyone knows Remy likes t' play wit' fire._

He smirked to himself and decided to do a bit of spying. After all, it always helped to know what the enemy was up to. Sauntering out of his office, he wandered around for while, looking out for her. Ten minutes later, he found her inside the creative team's office, alone. She was bending over a desk, going through Peter's storyboards and marking suggestions here and there. He paused in the doorway, crossed his arms and lent against the frame. He was very appreciative of her dedication to the project, especially since her ass looked so great in that tight red skirt. But he wasn't going to tell her so.

"Nice move back there," he announced instead. It was worth it just to see her jump a mile and turn to face him, scowling.

"Ah don't know what you're talkin' about," she retorted stiffly, turning back to her work and intending to ignore him. He wasn't having any of it.

"Walkin' past my office and just happenin' t' bump into Roberto Da Costa on de way," he continued conversationally, levering himself away from the door jamb and sidling up beside her. "You could've almost had me feelin' jealous."

He knew that she'd retaliate and he wasn't disappointed. Slapping her pen down, she shot upright and glared at him.

"Oh? Yah think Ah care what you thought? Roberto happens to be a nice man! A very nice man! Unlike some people Ah could mention round here!"

"Dat s'pposed t' bother me?" he asked smoothly. "B'cause you and I both know it's the bad boys you like, Anna."

Her eyes were glinting like daggers by now, and he knew he was pushing it - if he didn't stop soon he was in danger of getting kneed in the groin, and then she would've won by default.

"Yah ain't just any old bad boy, Remy LeBeau, you're are dirty, depraved and perverted, and Ah want nothin' more t' do with you!"

She swung back round, picked up her pen and bent over her papers once more, her cheeks flushed. He was getting to her, slowly but surely… Stooping over, he couldn't help but whisper seductively into her ear.

"By de way, you look great in dat suit, chere, but it's totally unnecessary. I know you're tryin' t' impress me, but in my humble opinion, I t'ink you look better without it. How about you come down t' my office in an hour and show me what you look like when you take it off?"

She whipped round, ready to smash him in the face, but he'd already scampered off before the thought had even crossed her mind

-oOo-

Okay, so now that plan A failed, it's time for plan B.

The problem is, I don't actually have a plan B.

I've finally figured out that, unfortunately for me, the whole cold-shoulder thing gets old fast. Remy knows exactly how to deal with cold shoulder tactics, and he uses that knowledge to devastating effect. Today he takes the strategic upper hand by lulling me into a false sense of security. I ignore him, acting all cool and professional when it's necessary to be in his presence. He walks around with a long face, looking so heart-rendingly depressed that I'm torn between a natural feeling of triumph and the overwhelming urge to go and comfort him. I resist the urge, however, and continue to keep an eye on him throughout the morning. By midday I've lost sight of him, which never bodes well. Confused and a little frantic, I get up and wander round the typing pool, look into his office, and the broom cupboard besides. There's no sign of him. By the time I do find him, steam is literally pouring out of my ears. He's standing outside the photocopy room, talking to some blonde-haired bimbo. I slide round a corner and slowly poke my head out. I immediately recognize the little tramp. It's Sandy, the new filing clerk, who happens to have a penchant for short skirts and low-cut shirts. Whenever she walks pass, every man in the building, single or otherwise, stops to drool in her wake. And every single woman stops to glare evils at her and whisper insulting things behind her back. It's got to the point where even Kitty is thinking of locking up Petey just to keep him safe from Sandy's many 'ample' charms.

Up till now she hasn't bothered me. A woman has to get by in this world somehow, and if she hasn't got much to go by up top, I can't really blame her for finding other ways of compensating. Inadequate men do the same, after all, with their stupid flash cars and hair obsessions (both of which, I feel the need to add, Remy possesses, although he has no reason to whatsoever). However, in this one single moment I've never felt this threatened by another woman in my entire life. I watch her giggle and simper at every word Remy's saying to her, and suddenly it hits me - she's got her filthy talons into my man! _Jezebel!_

Still, I remain spying on them from my strategically placed corner, gritting my teeth in an attempt to contain my fury. I'm waiting for Remy to fall into her trap, to take her bait, to incriminate himself and give me a reason to go right up there and slap him in the face. _Just wait till Ah get my hands on that insufferable excuse for a swamp snake!_

I continue to watch as she says something to him, batting her eyelids for all she's worth. Remy laughs, that low, husky seductive laugh of his, never taking his eyes off hers. By now I'm practically foaming at the mouth. He's giving her _that look_. The look he always tried - and still tries - on me when he's about to go straight in for the kill. That does it! I'm almost about to jump out of my hiding place and give him what for, when suddenly his eyes flick up over Sandy's shoulder and look straight at me. Before I can duck or hide he's caught my eye and I find myself unable to move away. He grins. Then he gives me the most outrageous wink it almost knocks me for six.

_He knew! The bastard knew Ah was tailin' him from the start!_

I swing back round the corner and shake my fist at myself for being such a yutz. This whole happy little scenario with Sandy had been a ruse! A set-up! A conniving plan to ruffle my feathers and make me lose my cool!

Remy LeBeau has outmaneuvered me yet again!

_Right - that does it!_

I march out of my hiding place without a second thought and head straight for the happy couple. Remy has such a self-satisfied grin on his face it makes me want to slap it right off him but I'm determined to keep my dignity. Instead I walk straight up to them.

"Excuse me, Mr. LeBeau?" I greet him frostily, purposely ignoring Sandy as if she wasn't even there. "Sorry for interrupting your little _tete-a-tete_," I emphasize the words through clenched teeth, "but Ah have something Ah need to discuss with you about the project. May Ah have a quick word with you?"

His casual expression doesn't even change. He's a smooth operator, I'll give him that much.

"Of course, Anna," he drawls lazily. "In private or…"

"_Private_," I practically growl at him. He smiles, looks at Sandy, and shrugs apologetically as if to say, _well, what can a man do when he has so many adoring fans?_ Sandy smiles back and nods with an expression of total understanding before she quite happily walks away, assured that this isn't the last encounter she'll be having with Remy LeBeau. I almost feel sorry for her, but not sorry enough as I glare at her until she disappears round the corner and out of sight. Once she's gone, I grab Remy by the tie and pull him into the empty photocopying room before he can protest. Once we're in there I round on him, eyes narrowed and jaw set.

"That was _low_, Cajun," I hiss at him, jabbing my forefinger into his chest. He merely looks down at it, amused, an eyebrow raised.

"All's fair in love an' war, chere," he remarks glibly.

"Don't give me that!" I snarl. "Two can play at that game!"

He laughs that sexy laugh of his, tempting me to lower my guard and surrender. But there's no way I'm waving the white flag to him this time, not after that cheap stunt he's just pulled!

"Oui, like, I can really see you tryin' to seduce JP. Now dat'd be a sight to see."

"Don't you dare go near that two-bit hussy again!" I order sharply, ignoring his imbecilic comment.

"Why?" he asks me, his gaze suddenly intensifying, his expression turning serious and his voice lowering a notch. "You jealous, chere?"

The power of his gaze, of his voice, almost throws me but still, I refuse to succumb.

"Hah! Jealous of an air-brained bimbo like her! In a pig's eye!"

All the while through this conversation he's been pressing me into a corner without me even realizing it, and by now I'm surprised to find my back hit a wall and that there's nowhere to run or hide. _Shit, he's doing it again! _He sees the sudden dilemma in my eyes and smiles his disarmingly dazzling smile, putting his hand against the wall beside my face and leaning in dangerously towards me.

"You're sexy when you're mad," he drawls, his eyes locking onto mine with such intensity that I can feel myself break out into a sudden hot flush.

"Go t' hell, Cajun," I toss back, but something's gone out of my voice and he can sense it. It makes him smile all the more.

"I like it when you're mad at me," he murmurs, inching closer, bit by bit, so that suddenly I can feel the body heat radiating from him, making me melt. Still, I never break eye contact with him, pouring all the defiance left inside me into that one single glare.

"Then yah better get used to it, sugah, because at the rate things are goin', Ah'm gonna be spendin' more time bein' mad at yah than glad at yah."

He chuckles, low, throaty, drawing me in further. His hand slides down the wall to my shoulder and toys lightly with a lock of my white hair.

"Dat's what I like 'bout you, Anna," he continues, totally ignoring the angry gleam in my eyes which is by now nothing more than a façade. "You never give in wit'out a fight."

"Like hell Ah'm gonna letcha just get ta meh without givin' yah a run for yah money first…" I reply, my voice coming out as a low, thick drawl, betraying me.

He takes one step forward, one step too close for comfort, because the next moment he's pinned me to the wall and I involuntarily catch my breath as I feel every hard contour of his body pressing seductively against mine. The last of my defenses begin to crumble as he traps me there in his embrace.

"Mais oui," he murmurs on, weaving me in his spell, the spell of his softly-spoken and enticing words, "But dat's what excites me, chere. You're bold and brassy and you're stubborn and passionate and…"

Whatever else he finds me I don't have a clue, since I can't stand it anymore. I grab his tie again, jerk his face towards mine and cover his mouth with mine feverishly. He switches from speech to kiss as easily as if it's what he'd expected all along, and the extent to which he'd been planning this whole decisive little battle between us finally becomes clear to me. But I'm so inflamed with passion right now that I simply forget to be mad at him. Our little game of cat and mouse has left us so goddamn horny that we can't get enough of each other. I don't care if I'm at work, I'm completely prepared to ask him to ravish me, right here, right now in the middle of the photocopying room.

He slides his leg between my thighs, just as if he'd read my thoughts, and I rub myself against him, not just willing, but begging, screaming with my entire body for him to take me.

That is until we both hear the sharp yet devastatingly polite 'ahem' sounding from the doorway.

In a flash the two of us spring apart like repelling magnets. There, in the doorway right next to us, stands Mr. Beaubier with a very disapproving look on his face.

I quickly pull down my skirt and rearrange my mussed up hair, inwardly screaming at myself for yet another excruciating faux pas.

_Dammit, Remy, this is all your fault_!

Jean-Paul merely stares at us with the sternest expression I've ever seen his handsome face wear. I'm almost taken aback. I've never seen Jean-Paul looking angry, especially not with me, since I happen to be his little favorite. I begin to feel an ashamed blush creep up my cheeks. _Now even my head boss is going to think I'm a hoe!_

"Would the two of you mind telling me what's going on here?" he asks, as cutting as glass. Remy, who amazingly looks almost as abashed as I do, appeals to his friend and mentor.

"Jean-Paul dis ain't what it seems -"

"Mr. Beaubier," I cut in quickly, wanting desperately to redeem myself, "let me explain. Remy and Ah… we were, um… in here, uh… discussing the benefits of…err… posture correction! Yes, posture correction!"

"Posture correction?" JP raises a disbelieving eyebrow and I falter off, realizing there's no way in hell I'll be able to bullshit my way through this one. In the ensuing silence, Remy throws me a bewildered glance, and I shrug. _Don't blame me, it was the first thing that came to mind…_

Jean-Paul sees the look we exchange and says dryly: "Maybe it's time the three of us went back to my office and discussed your 'posture correcting'."

Remy and I look at one another again. _Shit._

"_Now_," JP suggests, meaningfully pointing towards the open door.

There's nothing for it but to obey. Heads hung, shoulders slumped, Remy and I follow our boss back to his room like a pair of naughty schoolchildren heading for the dreaded principal's office. I'm so distressed at the prospect of losing my boss' favor that I barely notice that my skirt's still all twisted, the top of my blouse is open, and my hair is in disarray. Thankfully or otherwise, the only other person we bump into on the way is Monet, who brushes past me with a stare so icy it feels like an Arctic wind. I feel her stare follow me all the way round the corridor, and I'm sure she's grinning in triumph at my disgrace. No doubt by the time I get out of JP's office, I'll be the talk of the typing pool.

Again.

Finally, we're there. JP opens the door for us and we drag our heels through. Then he closes the door behind us and sits at his desk. He sits there for ages, assessing us with his glance, making us feel even more inadequate and foolish and badly-behaved than we already do. I keep my eyes on the floor, unable to meet his gaze with my own. All the nightmares I had of being thrown off the creative team and my pet project, transferred to another department or even fired, seem about to come true.

"Well," Jean-Paul begins at last in a very severe voice, "it's now obvious to me that you're as crazy about one another as I always figured you were in the first place."

Well that sure wasn't the kind of comment I was expecting! I glance up at him in surprise, only to find his countenance as stern as before. Even Remy looks surprised and confused. Then, almost as if like magic, Jean-Paul's frown is gone and is replaced by a huge smile.

"What the hell took you two so long!" he demands.

Remy and I look at one another again, but when we turn back we find we're still too shell-shocked to speak.

"Come on, out with it!" Jean-Paul demands comically, leaning forward in his chair and looking up at us with a ravenous look. "How long has this been going on for, eh?"

"Well, officially," I stammer, finding my voice first, "only about two weeks, suh."

"Officially?" JP repeats gleefully. "You mean this has been going on for longer? How long?"

I'm about to protest that it's nobody's business when I suddenly remember that this is my boss I'm talking to. So instead I say: "Mr. Beaubier, suh… you mean you're not angry?"

He laughs at me, his easy, infectious laugh.

"Angry? Why, no. Why should I be, when my two most favorite employees in the world finally figure out they're made for each other? This is the kind of thing I thrive on!" He pauses and gives Remy a penetrating stare, observing cynically: "Although I do remember asking Mr. LeBeau here to keep the hanky-panky _out_ of the building."

Remy says nothing but shifts his feet, looking uncomfortable.

"And," Jean-Paul continues, in a far more serious strain, "I am a little concerned as to how this is going affect the team."

"It won't affect the team, Ah promise, suh!" I cry before Remy can get a word in edgeways. "Ah'm totally dedicated to the project, and mah relationship with Remy ain't gonna get in the way! Ah swear you can count on me, suh!"

Jean-Paul cocks an eyebrow, leans back in his chair and says: "So it's serious then?"

It takes me a moment to realize he's talking about our relationship. He aims the question more at Remy than at me, but Remy side-steps the issue, protesting instead: "Sorry, JP, but what has our relationship got t' do wit' de project? Dey be two entirely different t'ings…"

"Different things, but very much intertwined," JP reminds us unsmilingly. "Lovers are bad news in business, Remy, and it's a fine line between love and hate. What would happen if the two of you were to split up? Acrimoniously? Would you still both be willing to communicate to each other on a professional level? Would you still wish to associate with one another?" He shakes his head. "I'm not willing to sacrifice the project to your relationship. It's too good for that. Lovers are usually a gamble not worth taking. It's business ethics, Remy."

I pass Remy an arch glance, reminding him that I'd told him exactly the same thing the morning before.

"You mean you'll haveta move one of us to a different team?" Remy asks.

I remain silent, biting my lip. Of course, if it comes to it, we all know it won't be Remy who'll be moved. It'll be me. Remy's the head of the creative team. He runs it. I'm just one of the cogs in the wheel. I'm expendable. Even though the present project was my idea, there are others who know enough about it to take over from me if the occasion arose. Peter, for instance. It sucks but it's fact.

"Non," Jean-Paul replies tactfully. "I'm not quite _that_ hard-hearted. What I'm asking is, if things _do_ end up going sour between you two, are you prepared for the likelihood that one of you will be transferred to another department?"

The question is addressed to both of us, but he's looking at me as he says the words. What can I do? I can only take in a breath and nod.

Jean-Paul looks relieved, because he slouches back into his chair again and smiles broadly at us.

"Well, that's a relief!" he declares. "Because other than that little technicality, I give you two my blessing. Couldn't think of a better looking couple, I really couldn't!"

We both thank him falteringly. It's nice to know we've got Mr. Beaubier's approval, but then he's made it very clear to us that there are some quite unpleasant strings attached, which leaves us feeling a little less enthusiastic.

"Well, off with you now," JP attempts to shoo us off humorously once we're done thanking him. "I've got places to go and people to see. Anna, we simply must talk about the project some time tomorrow. Will you come in before lunch?"

I assure him that I'd be happy to, and quickly turn to leave, Remy close behind me. But before we're out the door, JP stops us.

"Actually, Remy, there _is_ something I need to talk to you about. Can I have a minute?"

Remy stops, turns.

"Sure," he says. He looks back at me, smiles and winks, assuring me he'll be back soon. I smile back before closing the door quietly behind me.

-xXx-

Jean-Paul's expression was uncharacteristically somber as he gestured for Remy to sit down in the seat opposite. It wasn't every day that JP looked as grave as this - even with his colleagues his mood was generally upbeat. So it was with a curious look that Remy took his seat, expectantly waiting for his boss to speak.

"So," Jean-Paul began soberly, after a moment. "_Is_ it serious?"

Remy frowned. Okay, he _was_ given to playing the fool now and then, but did JP doubt his sincerity that much?

"Pretty much," he replied with a short shrug.

"Pretty much?" JP echoed dubiously. Remy, hearing his friend's disapproving tone, rephrased the sentence.

"It's serious," he concluded with a sense of finality.

"_Really_ serious?"

"_Really_."

Jean-Paul smirked and steepled his fingers.

"Never thought I'd see the day when I'd hear you say that," he mused. "I thought, after what happened with Belle, you'd've given up on all that romance stuff."

Remy shrugged again.

"Rogue…Anna… She's worth it."

"Is she?"

"I thought you approved of her?" Remy asked, confused.

"Of course I do. I'm just thinking of things from your perspective here, mon ami."

Remy's brow creased in a deep frown.

"What exactly are you gettin' at, JP?"

Jean-Paul sighed. "Look, don't get me wrong," he said. "I know you like her. I don't doubt that for a moment. I'm just wondering whether there isn't something more to all this. Like maybe she's some sort of substitute for-"

"Save it, JP," Remy cut in a little angrily before the dreaded name could be said again. "I don't wanna hear it. Rogue is _totally_ different to _her_. There ain't no comparison."

"Maybe, but you can't pretend Belle didn't hurt you, Remy." Remy looked like he was going to protest but JP quickly held up a hand. "She jilted you, Remy. On your wedding day. That's gotta hurt any man's pride, as well as their heart. And you _do_ have a heart Remy, contrary to popular belief. I saw the evidence of that with my own eyes. Who bummed in my apartment for a year? Who mooched off of me for twelve months, refusing to eat or sleep or wash? She made a mess of you, mon ami, and she's still hurting you, I can feel it."

"What's your point?" Remy muttered belligerently. He hated it when Jean-Paul went all girly on him and started talking about all this being-in-touch-with-your-emotions crap.

"My point is," JP continued heatedly, "that it's a bit of a coincidence, isn't it? You receive a wedding invite from Belle, and bam! Suddenly you're together with Anna Raven. I mean, doesn't it at least sound a little bit like…"

He faltered and Remy glared at him, daring him to say it.

"Like _what_?"

"Well… Like you're dating Anna on the rebound?"

He winced, knowing that Remy was going to explode. And boy did he explode.

"_What_!" he practically yelled, leaping to his feet and knocking over a pen tray that had been neatly standing on the desk. "_Rebound_! Over somet'ing dat happened _four_ years ago! JP, I've been over Belle for years! _Years_! I don't care where she is or what she does! And as for her gettin' hitched… Frankly, JP, I couldn't care less. She could be marryin' de Pope hisself and I wouldn't give a damn! And _you_!" he pointed accusingly at his boss, "I thought you were my friend! And yet you accuse my relationship wit' Anna of bein' a sham! Fuck you, man!"

It was no use arguing with Remy having a temper tantrum and Jean-Paul knew it. So he resigned himself to being berated and said nothing. Remy, having finally run out of anything accusing left to say, finally stormed out of the office and slammed the door shut behind him. Still inwardly fuming, he marched straight to his own office, went to his desk and threw open the drawer. Scrabbling under several odd bits of scrap paper, he finally found it. Belle's wedding invitation, right at the bottom of the drawer, all gaudy and perfumy amongst the piles of trash he'd collated over the months.

Gritting his teeth, Remy snapped it up in his hands, slammed the drawer shut, and tore the offensive slip of card into a dozen tiny little bits and pieces.

-oOo-

_To be continued..._


	4. Christmas Party

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to Marvel, apart from Sandy (so far)...

**Note: **Thanks for all the little choccies you guys have given us to feast on! We are happy little Easter bunnies right about now:D We are so glad that you are enjoying the ride so far! Although we promise, promise, promise that the other girls are going to make an appearance VERY soon, so hold onto your horses, my friends! Anyway, onto the replies... **Jean1:** Got a bit confused as to your reference to Wolverine... I presume you meant JP? Anyway, I don't know how to defend Remy's actions other than to say that he has different things to contend with than in the comicverse and that his relationships with certain people are slightly different. But thanks for the reviews anyway, yours are always very balanced and we appreciate that. :) **Chaos-harbinger:** You hit the nail on the head there, luv. And JP definitely hit a nerve. How much that nerve really hurts is a question that's gonna have to wait for later though... ;) **Rogue4787**: Now that's a compliment if ever there was one! I'm kinda chuffed we bring out the reviewer in you... that's cool! But as far as the Christmas party goes, I hope you find this chapter fun. And you'll have to wait and see about Belle's wedding sitch and whether Remy'll actually turn up. ;) **Dr. Breifs Cat:** Thanks again for the great review, dear. :) And I think your estimation of everything was absolutely spot on. And BTW, after Cody Rogue didn't have any serious relationships apart from Joe. She tried, but I guess most of the guys turned out to be dicks only interested in one thing... But even with Joe things didn't 'feel right', so she broke that one off pretty quickly. Also, Sandy isn't the first character we've made up - there's been Carlos and Kristin (Emma's maid), but I think that's about it for OC's. I actually went through my Marvel encyclopaedia to figure out someone who could take the Sandy- role, but there didn't seem to be anyone who fit the airhead bimbo characterisation well enough. I guess you have to say kudos to Marvel for that one. If you have any ideas for Sandy-esque characters though... ;) **illyria4747:** I think the whole cooking thing was an excuse for Rogue to get mad at Remy, when the real reason is his slipperiness. I guess, despite the fact that she loves him madly, she still feels out of control of the relationship and that bugs her. Maybe she's a little afraid that he might lose interest in her too, and that makes her defensive about things. And I think you're definitely right about the invite being a kick in the pants. I don't think that underestimates his feelings for Rogue. At least, we can hope it doesn't... ;)

Anyway, that's it for now! Thanks again to everyone who reviewed and faved the fic, and here's a long chapter for you all to enjoy... Woot!

-_Ludi x_

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* * *

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**Little By Little**

**(4) Christmas Party**

For the next couple of days, Remy and JP seem to be avoiding each other. I'm intrigued by this, and wonder what they could possibly have spoken about after I'd left Jean-Paul's office that day - but since I have other things to be getting on with on the creative team, I don't dwell on it for long. Besides, the entire week everyone seems more interested in the upcoming Christmas party, which is taking place on Friday evening, and L&L is in such a state of frenzy that by Tuesday I've forgotten to worry about the behavior of my two most favorite bosses.

Kitty, naturally, is beside herself with excitement about the inevitable shindig, but then, she can afford to be since she has Pete to go with. Everyone seems to have someone to go with. The typing pool is full of giggling females, wandering who's going to have the audacity to ask Remy out. Luckily for me, no one seems to have the balls to confront him. Heather Cameron ends up being asked by one of the other section heads; Tabitha Smith insists no one is good enough for her except herself; Robert Kelly seems to think Christmas parties are beneath him and proclaims his intention of boycotting the whole affair, even though everyone knows he'll make appearance so he can cozy up to the bosses.

Roberto Da Costa, on the other hand, seems to be shadowing my every step. Everywhere I go, he seems to be right behind me with this sick puppy-dog look on his face, and it gives me the creeps. Ever since the incident with the famous red suit and the dropped purse, he won't leave me alone. I end up having to ask Kitty to stick with me at all times, so he can't get the chance to ask me to the party. By the middle of the week he's looking positively ready to tear his hair out.

"Why don't you just tell him you're already spoken for?" Kitty asks me one day, when we'd found ourselves knocking on Monet's door in a last ditch attempt to shake him off.

"Because he'll kill himself, I just know it!" I grit my teeth and reply to the door, as I watch him hovering uncertainly at the end of the corridor out of the corner of my eye.

"Anna, all this is going to have to come out sooner than later," Kitty reasons. "And you're doing him more harm by stringing him along than telling him the truth."

"If Ah tell him the truth, the whole of L&L will know about me and Remy!" I hiss back at her, when suddenly the door opens and Monet reveals herself in all her trumped up glory.

"What do _you_ want?" she scowls when she sees me.

"Oh, is this _your_ room?" I simper apologetically. "We thought it was the, uh, Deputy Administrator's office…"

It's a shitty lie, and Monet doesn't even waste her breath telling us so. The next moment the door has been slammed unceremoniously in our faces.

"Way to go, Anna," Kitty mutters over at me.

"It was worth it," I mutter back. "At least Rob's gone."

By Wednesday afternoon, it seems Remy and JP have magically made-up, because the next time I see them (in Remy's office) they're joking conspiratorially together about something I'd rather not know. Jean-Paul seems totally comfortable with the fact that we're a couple, bless him. It amuses him to see me constantly sneaking into Remy's office. I think he enjoys the intrigue of a love affair, but as luck would have it, the week is so busy that Remy and I hardly get a chance to play at all.

The down side of all this is that I don't get any time to discuss the approaching party with Remy at all. I still have no idea what's going to happen. I know Remy wants us to go as a couple, but I just don't think I'm ready for it, even now that we have JP's approval. Of course, Remy doesn't seem too bothered about it at all, but I'm worried to death over it. On Tuesday evening I'd had Betsy round to discuss dresses, and ended up realizing I had no idea what effect I wanted for my grand entrance. If I were going with Remy, it'd have to be something loud. But by myself… bitter experience of my last party at L&L had taught me that loud dresses were _not _the way to go. After two hours of indecision, Betsy had finally sighed and ordered me to sort things out with Remy or else.

So Wednesday came, and the working day went. Remy had had to stay over late, so it's nearing eight when I finally decide to call him. Already in my pajamas and ensconced in my favorite squishy armchair, I dial his number, psyching myself up to confront him about the party yet again. It's a while before he picks up.

"Hey, chere," he greets me. It's only then that I realize just how much I've missed his voice the past couple of days.

"Hey, sugah. You sound breathless. Whatcha been doin'?"

"Just fixin' myself some food," he replies jovially. "Had to run from de kitchen."

_Hmm… Microwave food, no doubt._ I smirk.

"Oh. Ah see."

"So to what do I owe de pleasure of dis call?" he asks. "Is dere anyt'ing I can do for you? I can come round and clean out your oven if you want me to. I can come topless as well."

"The topless oven cleaning can wait for another day," I tell him firmly, but not without a trace of humor. "There's somethin' else Ah wanted t' talk to you about."

"Oh?" He sounds curious. "Would it be too much to expect you want t' talk dirty t' me, baby? 'Cos much as I'd love to, I'm cookin' some pasta right now and I'm kinda hungry…"

_Ha! Pasta's probably boilin' over as we speak!_

"Unfortunately, no. No dirty talk. Ah was thinkin' more along the lines of the Christmas party this weekend?"

"Oh," he says. "Well, we can talk about dat if you want. Although I'm still open to de dirty talk if you call me back a li'l bit later…"

"Remy shut up about the dirty talk already! Ah'm bein' serious!"

"Okay, okay, I'm keepin' schtum! So what's botherin' you, huh? You still worried about what people gon' t'ink about us?"

"A little," I admit, still feeling stupid about it. I just wish I were as think-skinned as he is. "Listen, Remy, Ah don't want t' disappoint yah, but Ah think we should go separately. You know, make it seem as if nothin's goin' on between us. Ah don't think Ah could handle all the gossipin' and the starin' if we do come outta the heterosexual closet."

"Chere, dey be gossipin' about us anyway," he notes dryly. "But if dis is really what you want, I don't know what to say."

My face falls at his tone of voice. "You're disappointed, aren't yah."

"Well, I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't. But like I said, if dis is what you want, I'll go along wit' it. Just don't expect me to ask Sandy t' de party as cover."

I manage a laugh at that. "Sandy, Ah can handle. Ah'd only be mad if y'all went with that bitch, Monet."

"Like Monet and I have a hope in hell," he remarks with mock tragedy. "Besides, I'm in her bad books since I went to Caldecott lookin' for you. She'd rather go out wit' a snake."

"Remy, y'all _are_ a snake," I remind him. "A good-fer-nuthin' swamp snake. But Ah still love yah for it," I add before he can take me seriously.

"Aw, just like I love you for bein' my Mississippi River rat," he plays along with me, so that I can't tell whether he's being for real or not. Before I can work it out, he's already speaking again. "Listen, chere, my stomach's rumblin' somet'ing vicious. And I have a funny feelin' my pasta's boilin' over right about now."

_Ha, I knew it!_

"No worries, sugah. Ah won't keep yah from your dinner. You go eat now."

"Okay. So you gonna call me later?" he asks hopefully. I grin and coil a lock of white hair round a forefinger.

"Ah may do…"

"Call me in an hour," he says quickly. "I'll be ready for you den."

"Are you sure about that, hun?" I raise an eyebrow at the phone.

"Chere, wit' you, I'm never sure of anyt'ing. But I try t' keep up, when I can." He pauses, and his voice lowers to a sexy drawl. "Talk t' y' later, p'tit."

"Bye, Remy," I drawl back, and place down the handset. Just talking to him, and my heart is already beating a mile a minute. I blow a lock of hair off my hot cheeks.

"Time for a cold shower, Roguey," I mutter to myself. "And a _very_ stiff drink."

-oOo-

Thursday comes and goes rather uneventfully, but by Friday the whole of L&L is in a fever pitch of excitement. Some of the girls in the typing pool end up making regular trips to the function room, which is being decked out in full Christmas regalia for the festivities. JP is going about singing festive carols and even Monet is smiling. Only Robert Kelly looks sullen. I guess he didn't get a date to the party after all.

As soon as the working day's over I race home and spend the next couple of hours getting ready - with Betsy's assistance of course. Despite the help I'm still about half an hour late when I finally arrive at the party. It's amazing really. I decide I'm going to dress down and Betsy still manages to make a big fuss over jewelry, perfume, underwear and even the sheerness of my stockings.

L&L's function room is alive with the sounds of music, laughter, raised voices and the clink of wineglasses. I stand outside the double doors and look down tentatively at myself. Compared to my last party at L&L I'm actually looking relatively modest. Instead of something flashy and attention grabbing, I'd whipped out my favorite little black dress. Emma had looked at it with high disapproval, but Betsy had been more sympathetic - while certainly not show-stealing, to Betsy black would always be in fashion and would always look good. The only thing risqué about this dress was a plunging V-cut neckline - otherwise it was knee-length and there wasn't even a slit in sight. It was simple and elegant, and as soon as I'd put it on it'd given Emma the overwhelming desire to rip at least 2 inches off the length of the skirt.

This time I was definitely _not_ going to make the mistake I'd made at L&L's last party and have every male in the room slavering over my famous 'assets'.

Satisfying myself that I'm looking perfectly decent, I finally screw up the courage to push the doors open. I'm instantly assailed by the thumping sounds of party music, by the scent of alcohol, by the flashing coloured lights and the cacophony of people attempting to talk above the noise. I slip inside trying to look as invisible as I can. I even manage to stay inconspicuous for all of about ten seconds, before someone collides right into my back. I whirl round, mumbling my apologies, only to find myself staring into Monet's scowling face.

"You're late," she notes, looking down her nose at me as if I was something dirty. From the way she says it I can tell she's disappointed that I didn't turn up at all.

"Ah thought we could turn up whenever we liked," I reply, trying very hard to be calm and civil, though being civil to Monet is frankly like trying to be civil to Hitler.

"Hmm," is all she answers with, casting a highly disapproving look over my choice of dress. Monet, as luck would have it, simply can't stand wearing anything that's even one week out of fashion. Tonight she's wearing a beautiful silk cheong-sam, embroidered in red and gold. She's even gone to town with her makeup and given herself a slightly Oriental look. Much as I hate to admit it, she looks simply stunning - and she knows it. The same can't be said of her opinion of me. "I do believe that's a Prada, darling," she says scornfully of my dress, her eyes still raking disdainfully over my body. "Let me see - Autumn/Winter collection, four years ago?"

I want to shout obscenities at her, but quickly curb my tongue and reply through a false smile: "Yup, that's right."

"Oh well, I suppose working in the fashion industry can't afford _all_ of us a sense of taste," she notes witheringly, and walks away before I can reply. I stare after her, my eyes literally shooting daggers, as she sashays off towards what I presume is one of her many sycophantic admirers.

"Hey, Anna!"

Turning at the sound of the familiar, friendly voice, I see Kitty approaching me, waving at me with one hand, the other clasped protectively round the elbow of her boyfriend, Peter Rasputin.

"Kitty, Peter!" I cry, some of the tension immediately falling away from me. "Boy, am Ah ever glad to see you guys!"

I pause, suddenly speechless, as Kitty finally nears me. I have to admit that I've never seen her looking so radiant. She's wearing a shimmering, strappy gold dress with matching heels, and - wonder of wonders - is actually wearing lipstick and mascara. I don't think I ever seen her wearing makeup. I didn't know the gal had it in her to look so glam. Beside her, looking handsome as ever in a debonair suit, Peter looks very proud indeed of his beautiful girlfriend.

"Kitty, yah look beautiful!" I exclaim in wondering disbelief. On the sidelines, Peter's smile somehow manages to grow even wider.

"Oh, it's nothing," Kitty waves aside the compliment with a blush of embarrassment. "I don't know the first thing about fashion! I got Tabs to help me out." She points out the creative team's costume specialist, Tabitha Smith, who's looking strangely out of place in a pink, 1930's style gown, while her boyish crop of blonde hair has been gelled up into a spiky, rock-chick style. She spots me looking at her and waves at me over the shoulder of a random young man whose face I recall but whose name I don't.

"Well, looks like she did a great job," I note, inwardly wondering how she could make such a great job of Kitty but not of herself.

"Oh, you know Tabs, she loves to have models to experiment on!" Kitty grins. "But what took you so long, Anna? We thought you weren't coming!"

"Yeah, we were worried," Peter adds. "Especially when Mr. LeBeau turned up and you didn't."

"We thought maybe…" Kitty lowers her voice and leans in closer to me, "We thought maybe you two had broken up!"

I don't know whether to laugh or roll my eyes at the statement.

"Well, I decided that it was best if we came separately," I say. Kitty's smile instantly turns to a frown.

"Why? You're not still worried about what everyone thinks?"

I shrug evasively, and scan the room for any signs of Remy, who so far has escaped my notice. I finally catch sight of a gaggle of simpering females in one corner of the room. No doubt about it, Remy just has to be in the center. I scowl to myself.

"I think maybe you should go and rescue him," Peter observes, following my line of sight.

"Why?" I ask sarcastically. "Ah'm sure he's enjoying the attention. He usually does."

"No way!" Kitty looks horrified. "Anna, you have to get in there right now if you want to keep your man! That Sandy has been glued to his side ever since he got here!"

"Pfft!" I pull an ugly face. "The day he succumbs to Sandy's 'charms' is the day I start taking crap from Monet St. Croix!"

"I still think you should go over and help him out," Peter suggests, shuddering as he looks over at the throng of starry-eyed women. "There's only so many fangirls a man can take in one go."

"Believe me," I say coldly. "Remy's well-equipped to deal with groupies."

Before either of them can make a reply, Jean-Paul beckons them from across the room, obviously wanting to discuss something _Lavande_-related.

"Oh no," Kitty groans, hiding her face. "He's been wanting to talk about the new ad all night!"

"Well, we might as well get it over and done with," Peter shrugs.

"Peter, do you know how hard it is to explain composite animation to the man?" Kitty wails.

"About as hard as explaining organic thingamabobs to him, Ah'd guess," I reply with a sly grin. "Dontcha worry, Kitty. Mah turn will come soon, no doubt about it."

The two leave reluctantly, leaving me to saunter over to the refreshments table to pick up one of the fancy tidbits on offer. I look at it before popping it into my mouth, having no clue what it's meant to be. Apart from the suspiciously fishy flavor, it doesn't taste too bad. I slip a couple more into my mouth and then pick up a glass of wine. Across the room, Remy's fanclub has dispersed somewhat, and I can finally see him in casual conversation with Sandy. I narrow my eyes and chew hard on whatever it is I'm chewing on. Sandy's barely-there outfit has to be the most vulgar I've ever laid eyes on - and having a friend like Emma, that's saying a lot. Her body is nearly spilling out of an eensy-weensy red dress in the most gratuitous display of T and A I've ever seen. Nope - I don't think even Emma would be seen dead in anything remotely that revealing. Remy, on the other hand, looks completely unconcerned, chatting to her with the same seductive charm he always puts on when he talks to women.

_That's right swamp rat, you earn yahself another earful from yours truly…_

As if on cue he looks up then and spots me, smiling momentarily so that his eyes light up. I simply pout and look away.

I busy myself choosing a few more delicacies, and take the opportunity to glance round the other half of the room. It's then that I realize that my plans at dumbing down haven't exactly worked. Several men are gazing over at me with appreciative expressions on their faces. A few are even sending hopeful smiles my way. I look down at myself, wondering what exactly I've done wrong. All the other women here are dressed up to the nines in flashy colors and enough jewelry to put the Queen of England to shame. Surely there can be nothing spectacular about my boring old LBD?

I inch a little towards the end of the table, hoping to be less conspicuous nearer the corner of the room. I could've stood up on the table for all the good it does. A minute later, Roberto Da Costa, one of my colleagues on Remy's creative team, crosses the room towards me, an easy smile on his handsome face.

"Hey Anna," he greets me, sidling up beside me and picking up a glass of red wine.

"Hi, Rob," I smile genuinely back at him. In the frenzy of getting ready for the party, I'd all but forgotten about his stalking. And by the time I do remember, I'm talking to him and it's too late. Doh!

"Didn't think you were coming," he remarks a little too casually. "But…I'm glad you did."

He flashes me a bright smile that I can't quite fully return.

"Well, yah know what a gal can be like getting ready," I return as humorously as I can, while inwardly hoping Remy decides to grace me with his presence soon.

He laughs a little tensely and nods. "Well, looks like all that effort paid off," he says, then adds rather quickly, "You look great, Anna."

I mumble my thanks, yet again wondering what exactly is singling me out as being especially attractive tonight.

We stand a few moments in awkward silence, drinking our wine. I glance at Remy and Sandy only to find they've both disappeared. I frown to myself. Okay, so I told him we shouldn't make things _too_ obvious tonight, but he could at least have the common decency to rescue me from unwanted admirers…

"So," Roberto suddenly asks from beside me in a rush, "you wanna dance?"  
I'm so busy looking for Remy that I don't quite catch him.

"Sorry?"

He leans in towards my ear, thinking I hadn't been able to hear him over the loud music, and shouts: "wanna dance?"

I open my mouth, about to stutter an embarrassingly unconvincing excuse, when suddenly a sultry drawl interjects beside me: "Excuse me, am I interrupting?"

I half turn to find Remy standing beside me, and I'm so relieved to see him I have to repress the urge to throw my arms round him there and then.

"Not at all," I answer breathlessly.

"Uh, no, not at all Mr. LeBeau," Roberto adds politely, although I can't help but notice the way his face has fallen.

"It's just dat I was hopin' to have a private word wit' Anna here," Remy continues smoothly, giving me a nonchalant half glance. "I caught a few things in your report that concerned me, y'see," he says, addressing me fully without even so much as batting his eyelids, "and it simply couldn't wait until after de holidays…"

"Of course, no problem, Mr. LeBeau," Roberto mutters, and I almost feel sorry for him. He looks at me with a small smile. "See yah later, Anna," he adds hopefully.

"See yah, Rob," I half smile back. Without another word he wanders off again, a thoroughly disappointed expression on his face.

"Well, yah could've come like five minutes earlier," I heartlessly scold Remy once Roberto's out of sight and earshot. I sneak Remy a half glance, trying not to look too furtive or suspicious. He looks as delicious as he always does in a casual smart Alexander McQueen suit and a silky gray shirt. As usual the two top buttons are undone. It makes my fingers itch to rip the whole goddarn thing right off him.

"I dunno," he replies lazily. "Thought I'd check out de male competition." I shoot him a look and he smiles, explains: "You're popular tonight."

The searing gaze he passes over my body says it all. Once again, I'm nonplussed.

"Looks like you are too," I note sourly, casting a look over at Sandy, who's now talking to Peter and a defensive-looking Kitty. Remy follows my gaze.

"What, Sandy?" He laughs. "She's a sweet girl," he observes good-naturedly.

"Yeah, she's a real sweet piece o' work," I say darkly. Remy looks at me in amusement.

"Keep on makin' comments like dat one and you'll be seriously massagin' my male ego, chere," he notes humorously.

"That's right, laugh it up, Cajun," I huff at him. I half turn away from him so it doesn't look like we're getting too close - for all the good it does. The fact that I'm talking to him alone is earning me jealous looks already. Several women are glaring at me and whispering amongst themselves. _No doubt gossipin' about what a first-class hoe Ah am_, I fume silently to myself.

Remy's still looking at me with an amused smile on his face.

"You're serious, aren't you?" he says. "Rogue, what've you got to be so insecure about?"

"What've Ah got? How about an entire company full of jealous and vindictive women who'd pounce on you any time of the night or day given the chance?"

He chuckles softly.

"Screw dem. What makes you t'ink I'd want any of dem when I've got you?" He pauses and surveys the room in a quick glance. "You _do_ know dat any one of de men in dis here room would willingly give up all sense and reason t' have you as their woman?" He pauses, adds comically: "'Part from JP, of course, but we all know he still loves you to bits."

I say nothing. It hadn't really occurred to me before that any guy in this room would be interested me. I guess I've just spent so much of the past four years feeling disillusioned about meeting a decent man to believe it possible. Besides, ever since I started at L&L, I've been far too distracted by Remy to be thinking about any of the other guys round here. I always figured they thought I was a tramp anyway. But now that I think about it, I _have_ noticed a couple of longing looks being passed my way in the corridors…

"But _why_?" I suddenly burst out, confused. "Ah mean, Ah didn't want any attention tonight, so Ah figured wearin' this stupid old black dress would make me look as frumpy as possible, and they're still all oglin' me like Ah was walkin' round in the buff…"

Remy chuckles lightly again. "You wan' know why?" He turns to face me and absently toys with a lock of my hair. "Because you're goddamn beautiful, simple as dat."

"Remy…"

He's laying the charm on so thickly that I don't even notice the whispering around me growing to a fever pitch. It takes me half a minute to realize just how suspicious the two of us are suddenly looking.

"Remy!" I rebuke him under my breath, twisting my face away so that the lock of hair falls out from between his fingers. "Everyone's watchin'!"

"So what?" he asks calmly.

"Have you forgotten," I seethe at him, "that Ah'm s'pposed to have got into L&L by bein' yah bit of skirt on the side!"

From the sidelines I can distinctly see Monet's haughty face glowering over at mine.

"Dose cows can say whatever de hell dey want," Remy states intently, his hands slipping over my waist, much to my distress. "It's none of their goddamn business. I don't care what they think."

Horrified, I try to slap his hands away.

"_Ah_ care!" I exclaim, upset at how insensitive he's suddenly being about _my_ feelings.

"Why?"

"Because Ah'm not… Ah never was… Ah don't want them t' think that they're _right_!" I say desperately. "That Ah'm some kinda whore!" I add on a wavering breath. By now half the room is staring at the two of us as I finally slap Remy's hands away from my waist. He says nothing for a long moment and simply stares at me as I feel my cheeks begin to burn under the stares and the neon lights. Then, all of a sudden, before I can protest, he grasps my wrist and leads me onto the dance floor. He pulls me to a stop in the center and by now more than half the room is staring at us, wondering what's going on. If possible the women are tittering more excitedly than before.

"Excuse me, everybody!" Remy begins to announce in a voice that's calm but firm enough to carry over the music, and I start to panic as it finally dawns on me what he's about to do.

"_Remy_!" I hiss, but he simply ignores me.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he continues, "if I could just take your attention away from dis oh-so-wonderful party our beloved Mr. Beaubier has been so obligin' as to lay out for us," (and he gives a charming little bow in Jean-Paul's direction, who grins back and earns himself an unexpected and heartfelt clap from the congregation), "I have a little announcement t' make!"

He takes my hand in his own and raises it as if presenting royalty, with such a chivalrous air that I no longer have an excuse to smack him round the face and make my escape. So I just stand there and blush and hope I don't look too ridiculous.

"Dis - as I'm sure you all know by now - is Anna Raven, one-seventh of L&L's creative team, and a very talented young lady she is too." There are a few wolf whistles from the men on the sidelines who probably suspect I'm talented in more than just the usual areas. By now my cheeks are flaming a bright red, but Remy refuses to let up, his grip tightening on mine as he affectionately squeezes my hand in encouragement. It's a while before the cheering finally dies down.

"She is also-" Remy continues blithely, clearly enjoying every moment of the attention, "and I really hate to admit dis, because I know it's goin' t' disappoint quite few you out dere, male and female alike - she is also my most gorgeous and delectable girlfriend," (there are several audible gasps from the women in the room), "and she has been for de past few weeks. In short - yes, we are t'gether, yes, I love her, and to all de curious men in dis room, yes, she is extremely good in de -"

Whatever sordid revelation he's about to tell everyone is abruptly cut off as I clamp my hand over his mouth and quickly pull him down towards me in a stifling bear-hug. Not only had he said _those words_, but he'd said them _in front of a room of half-drunk work colleagues!_ At that very moment I don't think I can ever sufficiently repay him for such an overwhelming display of adoration.

"That's quite enough, swamp rat!" I cry in his ear, nevertheless unable to hide the happiness from my voice as I realize just how much stupid male reputation he's risked to declare to all and sundry just how he feels for me. "I love you," I add passionately, not caring anymore that the whole of L&L is watching, or even if the whole world knows. As I say the words, I look over his shoulder, and to my surprise, I see Jean-Paul start to clap, quickly followed by an enthusiastic Kitty and Peter, and then the rest of the creative team who add in whoops and whistles - even Roberto, who nevertheless looks at the two of us with a crestfallen expression. Soon pretty much everyone is applauding, except for a few peevish looking women, including Sandy, and most notably Monet, who looks as if she could turn just about anyone in a 100 yard radius to stone. But at that moment I find I don't even care. At the sound of the rapturous welcome we receive, how can I even give her a second thought?

Meanwhile, Remy squeezes me tightly before letting me go and asks sarcastically over the din: "Happy now?"

"Much," I nod in relief. "Although yah could've been a bit more subtle, yah naughty boy!"

He winks.

"You know me, chere," he replies innocently. "I just love t' shock."

"_Show off_, yah mean," I retort, hugging him tightly once more.

-xXx-

It was amazing how affectionate a girl could become after her man had swallowed enough male pride to make an utter fool of himself in front of his colleagues. Remy didn't know whether to be pleased that he'd finally allayed Rogue's paranoia that she'd go down in history as L&L's scarlet women, or worried that he was never going to live this event down again.

Rogue, however, seemed oblivious to his dilemma. Having been firmly installed in his life in front of all their peers, she couldn't have been happier. Once she'd had a couple more drinks he couldn't even get her off the dance floor. It amused him to see her obvious pleasure whenever anyone came past to wish them congratulations. In the end all he had to be thankful for was that his insane exhibition hadn't caused her to slap him in the face instead.

The only person who found the whole thing more amusing than Remy did was Jean-Paul Beaubier.

"Who's a brave boy then?" he asked of Remy jokingly, sidling up beside him while Rogue had gone off to the ladies' room.

"Shut up," Remy replied sourly, downing the rest of his drink in one go.

"Aw, I'm only kidding," JP grinned. "I'm just surprised that you announced it to the whole world, that's all. Not to mention Anna letting you get away with it intact," he chuckled.

"Lucky for me I got de killer charm den, neh?" he retorted sarcastically.

"You're taking this way too badly, mon ami," JP returned cheerfully.

"I ain't never gon' live dis down," Remy muttered belligerently.

"I should hope not!" Peter Rasputin's voice cut in from the sidelines as he and Kitty suddenly approached the two of them. "Practically every man in this room is secretly envying you for being the man to snare Ms. Anna Raven!"

"And that's nothing compared to what all the women are thinking!" Kitty added gleefully, her eyes shining. "That was _so_ romantic, Mr. LeBeau! If only Peter would be willing to do the same for me!" She passed a sly glance over at her boyfriend, who suddenly seemed more interested in adjusting his collar.

"See, Remy?" Jean-Paul gave him a comradely clap on the shoulder. "You're a regular hero!"

Remy gave a slightly bemused smile in reply. It wasn't that he was complaining or anything; he was just very conscious that ever since Anna Raven had come into his life, he'd been in very grave danger of becoming one of those dreaded 'new age men'.

"Who's a hero?" came Rogue's familiar husky, Southern drawl from behind them. A second later she'd squeezed in beside Remy and managed to sneak him a playful pinch on the butt without anyone noticing.

"We were just talking about Mr. LeBeau's little speech," Kitty gushed eagerly. "It was so _romantic_!"

"Romantic, huh?" Rogue cast Remy a penetrating look. "Ah guess it was, until he got to that last part."

Remy could only smile at apologetically at her, while Jean-Paul sagely remarked: "Oh, we all know Remy and his inability to resist showing off when he has _anything_ that's better than anyone else has…" He trailed off meaningfully, leaving Remy with the distinct impression that JP was enjoying this all a little _too_ much.

"Me and Petey are responsible an' mature men now, you jus' need t' grow up JP," Remy threw sarcastically at his boss, surreptitiously placing a hand against the small of Rogue's back and caressing her lightly. She, however, snorted and murmured: "Responsible and mature mah butt."

"And such a shapely butt it is, mah chere," Remy noted airily.

"The day I turn out like you two is the day I'm spinning in my grave at 2,000 RPM," Jean-Paul returned merrily, before adding as an afterthought. "No offence to _you_ of course, Peter."

"Hey, why no offence to _him_!" Remy protested indignantly.

"Because 'responsible' and 'mature' happen to be two words that suit Mr. Rasputin down to the ground," JP replied, to which everyone burst into laughter, except Remy, who looked highly affronted.

"You ain't never gon' let dis go, are you, JP?" he grumbled once everyone had stopped laughing.

"Let me think," Jean-Paul began innocently. "No, I don't think so."

"_Merde_," Remy muttered. He didn't mind JP teasing him behind closed doors in the office, but in front of everyone else it was somewhat humiliating. Of course he always knew that Christmas parties were the prime time for letting your hair down and for the borders of company hierarchy to be blurred, but in the past it had always worked to his advantage. This time round it seemed he was getting a taste of his own medicine.

"You vultures can leave mah man alone," Rogue finally came to his defense, though Remy suspected she'd secretly enjoyed them teasing him all along. She turned and rearranged his collar in a half-matronly, half-seductive manner, stating: "His devotion deserves your respect, not your ridicule." The way she said it, nevertheless, still left Remy the impression that she was poking fun at him. It was a pleasant surprise, then, that he saw a whole different expression in her smoky green eyes as she tugged on his collar slightly and forced him to gaze at her.

"Ah'm tired, Remy," she drawled meaningfully, "how 'bout we call it a night?"

"Aw," Kitty pouted in disappointment. "How can you be thinking of leaving already, Anna, you've only been here a couple of hours! The night is still young!"

Jean-Paul and Peter, however, were passing one another knowing glances.

"Maybe we should just let them go, Kitty…" Peter suggested innocently.

"Yes, Anna, you do look a little tired…" Jean-Paul added with an overdone look of indulgent concern. "You two go home now and get some, er, sleep."

Needless to say, Remy's mood cheered up considerably after this.

It took a long time for them to extract themselves from the party, seeing as quite a lot of people decided they had something to say to them before they left. Remy got clapped on the back several times, and Kitty and Tabitha insisted on having a final girly chat with Rogue before Christmas, which consisted of lots of giggling and lots of hushed whisperings which couldn't quite conceal the mentioning of his name more than once. By the time the two of them had finally got into the hallway, Remy felt as if he'd just been through a war zone.

Apparently, Rogue seemed to think so too.

"Whew!" she exclaimed, fanning herself with a hand. "Was it just me or was that the longest exit ever in recorded history?"

"You don't know how long," Remy replied huskily, having found the whole ordeal torturous, knowing what was coming once he got home.

"Hmm," Rogue hummed dubiously, already guessing some of the X-rated thoughts currently going through his head. They were standing outside the double doors of the function room, trying to talk as quietly as they could and not disturb the many couples who had met out in the hallway for a quick kiss and a grope. It was amazing the number of weird, wonderful and unexpected relationships that often sprung up out of Christmas parties - most of them doomed to disastrous failure. Rogue looked around with an intense look of disapproval. It amused Remy that someone as passionate and sexy as his girlfriend should have such a firm sense of moral discipline, one he often found extremely lacking in himself.

"So," he began, wrapping an arm round her waist and drawing her closer, his voice low and seductive, "your place or mine?"

"Yours," she replied promptly. Her paranoia of her apartment was just one of the many other things about her that amused him. "Ah'll just go get our coats from the cloakroom," she added, trying to disengage herself from his embrace, but he wasn't quite ready to let her go yet.

"Wait a minute," he said.

"What?" She looked a little impatient, and he quickly produced something from his pocket and held it above her head. Confused, she looked up and saw a sprig of mistletoe dangling between his fingers.

"I want a kiss," he demanded.

"Remy," she looked as if she didn't know whether to laugh or frown with exasperation, "you're gonna get a whole lot more than a kiss's worth when we get back."

"Christmas ain't de same without it," he insisted, and gave her a look so pleading that it took her all of two seconds to cave in.

"Oh… all right," she surrendered with a hint of laughter in her voice, and the next moment they were kissing so passionately that he reckoned they could give everyone else in the room a run for their money.

"There, happy now?" she asked archly of him once they'd broken apart.

"Exceedingly," he murmured, still secretly wanting more.

"Good. Now maybe Ah can go get our coats and we can mosey on outta here?"

"You do dat," he agreed, and watched as she swung tantalizingly down the corridor and out of sight. He found a grin slowly begin to play across his face as he realized that having this gorgeous girl by his side was worth a thousand humiliations he may have had to go through at her expense.

"Well that was a wonderfully touching speech you made back there, LeBeau," came a frosty voice from behind him. Remy knew who it was before he even began to turn around. Sure enough, Monet St. Croix was standing there, an unpleasant sneer plastered across her usually pretty face.

"T'anks," Remy replied coolly. He'd never had any issues with his rather opinionated and haughty colleague before - in fact they'd shared several casual flings in the past that had meant absolutely nothing to either of them. It bewildered him a little, then, that Monet had shown an implacable sense of jealousy towards his relationship with Anna even before it had truly begun. Both professionally and personally, Remy had always got on well with Monet (not that their personal relationship had ever extended past a number of casual romps over a couple of weekends), but lately he'd found an intense dislike for the woman that he'd never felt before. And yet, while their previous encounters had never been anything more than purely sexual, he found that both he and Monet shared an understanding that quite disconcerted him because he hardly knew a thing about her at all.

"It was just about the most moving thing I'd experienced all year," Monet continued to note airily but with a touch of venom. "Apart from that dirty weekend we shared last summer. You remember the one?"

"Dat was just stupid fun," he snapped, already beginning to lose his temper.

"Oh, as opposed to what?" she asked, her eyes glinting dangerously. "You mean as opposed to the boring things you and Anna do in each other's company? What do you do - sit around and talk about growing old together?"

Remy said nothing and gritted his teeth, knowing the worst thing was to start an argument with her - it'd be just the kind of thing she'd want Rogue to hear when she reappeared.

"You know, you're really going soft, Remy," she hissed maliciously. "That stuck-up hussy's baited you good and true, but don't worry, I don't expect your disgusting little fling to last more than five seconds." She reached down and cupped a palm over him, rubbing him intimately. "You'll get bored soon enough."

She lingered a second longer, long enough for both her words and her touch to sink in before she turned and swept away, just as Rogue came swinging back round the corner.

"What was that all about?" she asked curiously as Monet finally disappeared back into the function room.

"Not'ing," Remy muttered, still having trouble curbing the disconcerting effect Monet had had on him.

"Sugah, yah look all hot and bothered," Rogue commented worriedly, as she handed him his jacket. "She wasn't too harsh, was she? Ah thought you could handle her?"

"It was not'ing," he reassured her quietly. "Just Monet bein' her normal bitch of a self."

Rogue stared at the doors Monet had just left by, an incensed expression on her face.

"Just wait till Ah get mah hands on that cow…!" she began, but he stopped her. The last thing he wanted was to have to go in there and see Monet's face again. In fact, he'd be quite happy if he never had to see her contemptuous face again.

"Leave her to it, chere," he said softly, slipping his hands over her shoulders, ready to physically hold her back from having a showdown with Monet if he had to. "De fact dat we're t'gether is her problem, not ours. B'sides," he added, as he felt her relax and loosened his grip on her a little, "I don't want her t' spoil our night."

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her slowly, softly, savoring the taste of her lips, her mouth.

Monet was wrong. Anna Raven wasn't just a fling, and he was never going to get bored of being with her. Not ever.

-oOo-

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_To be continued..._


	5. Christmas Day

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Marvel, apart from those stated to the contrary...

**Note:** We've been sitting on this chapter for a while - sorry for the hugely late update. It's extra long to make up for the extra long wait. Much as we would like to update again soon, we don't know when that will be possible, since Angy is really busy and I will be moving to Japan in mid-October. We may try to churn something out in the meantime, but to all intents and purposes, this fic will be put on hiatus until I settle down in my new country-of-residence. ;) Thanks hugely to everyone who's supported this fic and its predecessor so far. Your input and feedback have been a constant pleasure to us and really kept us wanting to keep writing and growing as writers. Thanks so much for joining the ride and enjoying it with us.

Much love,

-_Ludi x_

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**(5) Christmas Day**

I wake up Sunday morning to the distinct aroma of eggs, bacon and pancakes. A little confused, I finally pry my eyes open to find myself lying in Remy's bed and not my own. A little disoriented, I roll over onto my back, only to find Remy's not lying there beside me. _Duh, he'll be the one who's cookin' breakfast then_. I suppress a snide giggle at the thought. Somehow the thought of seeing New York's biggest Casanova attempting to cook anything seems patently ridiculous. _Stupid male chauvinist pig, probably makin' a big mess of everythin'… probably ask me t' cook it for him…_

I lie in bed a few minutes longer and bury myself in the pillows, not wanting to leave the warmth and comfort of bed. The sheets still smell of him, his spicy aftershave mixed with the faint aroma of tobacco. I would've stayed there a lot longer if it hadn't suddenly dawned on me that it was Christmas.

_Christmas_!

I shoot out of bed, grab some clothes and hurtle into the bathroom.

Less than ten minutes later I rush downstairs after what has to be the shortest shower on record ever. However, the sight that greets me in the kitchen is just about the strangest sight I've ever witnessed in my life.

Remy's happily standing over the oven, tossing pancakes deftly into the air and catching them again in his pan. He's also wearing a 'kiss the chef' apron.

I don't know whether to gape or roll about the floor laughing.

Thankfully I end up doing the former and avoid incurring his wrath.

"Mornin', chere," he greets me cheerily when he sees me standing there in the doorway with my mouth hanging open. "Merry Christmas."

Hearing his voice finally confirms that it's actually him and I'm not hallucinating after all. Reassured, but still somewhat bewildered, I finally walk up beside him and do exactly what the apron's ordering me to, planting a lingering kiss on his cheek.

"Mornin', sugah," I manage to croak in a stunned voice. "Merry Christmas."

It looks like he's almost finished up on breakfast already. As I look down I see the bacon and the eggs already on their plates; all that's left are the pancakes, which are browning nicely in the pan. I can't help but gape now. The last time I attempted to make pancakes, all of them turned out looking floppy and anemic. And the last time I tried to fry bacon, they were so tough they almost shattered Remy's teeth. Yet here he is, cooking a breakfast that looks fit for a king.

"Where did you learn t' do that?" I can't help but question.

He grins.

"Call it natural born talent," he replies with unsuppressed smugness. I try not to glower.

"I didn't know you could cook," I point out rather accusingly.

He looks at me and grins again in that infuriating way of his, as he finally ladles the firm and golden brown pancakes onto their respective plates. "Den you don't know a lot about me, chere," he remarks cheekily. "Other den dat you find me utterly irresistible, of course." I'm so perplexed at this new revelation that I don't even have time to form a suitably scathing reply before he adds: "Now be a darlin' and pour us some coffee."

I finally manage a derisive snort, before pouring him a coffee from the machine, then an orange juice for myself. He, meanwhile, busies himself setting the table with an elegant efficiency I can't help but envy. I still can't help feeling disconcerted by his apparent culinary skills - skills that I now have to admit I seriously lack.

We finally sit down to breakfast in relative silence as I mull over the fact that I would probably make the most awful housewife ever known to man. I can't cook, and over the past few years I seem to have developed a cleaning phobia. My short employment at Joe Co. proved to me that I don't have much talent in the way of finances, and whenever I put anything in the washing machine my clothes all seem to get chewed up. I suddenly wonder what life must be like being married to a househusband who does all the cooking and cleaning for me. I decide it can't really be that bad at all.

Outside it seems to be the perfect Christmas day - cold and crisp and bright with a generous flurry of snow. And what makes it better is that for once, I'm not waking up to it alone.

"So," Remy begins after a few minutes' silence. "What do you think?"

"Of what?" I ask him blankly, whilst in the middle of chewing my pancake, which I have to say is delicious.

"Breakfast."

I can tell he's been waiting to spring this particular surprise on me for a fair while now. Hoping to avoid any mention of my abysmal cooking, which I now feel heartily ashamed over, I reply as graciously as I can.

"It's delicious," I assure him.

That seems to be enough of a surrender for him, as he grins at his plate and carries on eating.

"So," he starts again after a few more moments of silent gloating which I choose to ignore since I can't really win this battle anyway, "we're going to your friend's place dis afternoon den, right?"

"Yup," I nod. "All my other friends are gonna be there too. They're all dyin' t' meet yah, Remy."

"Well, Emma I've met," he replies with a sly smile. "I seem t' recall we had a conversation dat included bondage."

"Yeah, Ah guess you wouldn't forget somethin' like that," I note wryly. "Although Emma's not really the kinda gal anyone could forget any time soon."

"Now dat's a fact," Remy returns with a wistful look on his face, at which I kick him rather violently under the table. "Ow!"

"For your information, Emma is spoken for mister, and so are you!" I remind him heatedly.

"Great. So does dat mean I ain't gonna be de only man at dis shindig den?" he asks without even a suggestion of having been fazed by my words.

"No. Betsy's other half is gonna be there too."

"Bon, 'cos I really don't t'ink I could stand bein' de center of anymore female attention for de rest of dis festive season. I'm all loved out."

I snort loudly and inelegantly. "Yeah, right. Y'all enjoy it, Cajun, don't pretend you don't! And as for being 'loved out', as you so tactfully put it… that'll be the day!"

"How well you know me, p'tit," he replies indulgently, trailing his bare foot up my shin under the table. I curtly move my leg away from his reach and frown at him.

"Ah wantcha on your best behavior in front of mah friends today, please."

"Yes, mom," he agrees impudently. I hate it when he does this to me. For once - just for once - it'd be nice if the guy could actually take me seriously once in a while.

I decide that once our most-excellent breakfast is finished, it's only fair that I should do the washing up, so I do. While I'm busy packing the dishes into the dishwasher and cleaning the pans, Remy goes to the Christmas tree I'd helpfully erected for him (even though he'd hotly declared that any sort of Christmas decoration would ruin the manly aura of his perfect bachelor pad), and starts picking up the presents and rattling them meaningfully. I get the message and hurriedly finish up my cleaning before rejoining him in the living room.

"Presents!" he exclaims like a gleeful schoolboy. I can't help but smile.

"Do you usually spend Christmas by yourself?" I query with a raised eyebrow.

"How did you guess?" he asks.

"No one past the age of twelve gets _this_ excited about opening presents," I observe jokingly. He shrugs. "You jes' lack de Christmas spirit, cherie," he retorts reproachfully.

"Seriously though," I continue, "dontcha even go back to see your folks?"

He tries to disguise it but nevertheless I can't help but notice that he freezes up at the words.

"Non. Christmas back home is a nightmare… All dat fussin' and tradition… Not to mention y' can't even stand up for about a week afterwards, you're so stuffed wit' roast turkey. Plus Henri and Theo gettin' drunk… Trust me, chere, you do _not_ wanna see dose guys when dey're drunk…"

He trails off, and I can't help thinking those aren't the real reasons why he avoids going back to New Orleans.

"Fair enough." I shrug, deciding I'll let it lie for now. I stare at him turning his present eagerly over and over, obviously anxious to open it. "Yah wanna open it then?" I ask him sarcastically.

"Are you kiddin'?"

"Ah don't know whether it's any good," I warn him uncomfortably. "Ah guess Ah'm not really sure what you like yet - apart from…" I give a poignant pause and an equally poignant look which isn't lost on him. "But there was no way in hell Ah was gonna getcha anythin' related to _that_, so Ah got you this instead."

"Didn't want t' give me any ideas, huh?" he suggests archly, an eyebrow cocked.

"_Exactly_," I say primly. "Well open it then!"

He eagerly undoes the wrappings, which finally reveal a thick slab of a book. A little bewildered, Remy studies the front cover, his face steadily falling so that I have to fight back a wicked chuckle.

"_Willpower & Mind Over Matter: A Smoker's Guide to Quitting_?" He looks up at me with an expression that's nothing short of appalled. "Gee… t'anks, chere."

"You're welcome," I reply, grinning widely and trying not to burst into cruel and gleeful laughter.

"You know, if you have a problem wit' me smokin'…" he begins.

"Well, it's rather a disgustin' habit, isn't it," I cut in sweetly, "and Ah want what's best for mah man, don't Ah?"

I lean in and plug a kiss on his doleful face.

"I…guess…" he says, so miserably that I can't help but relent.

"An' if yah look round the back of the settee," I add cheerfully, "you'll find your real Christmas presents waitin' for yah, sugah."

He looks at me and his face lifts into an expression that betrays a mixture of happiness and outrage.

"Why you -!" he begins, but is unable to find a suitable expletive and starts tickling me mercilessly all over instead.

"Sorry!" I scream breathlessly as I try to wriggle out of his clutches, but he's still determined to torture me.

"Sorry? Chere, dis next present had _better_ be good!" he exclaims, finally deciding I've had enough punishment and letting me go.

"Doesn't mean I still don't wantcha to give up!" I shoot at him as he dives behind the sofa and starts rummaging round.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he brushes my comment aside unceremoniously before resurfacing with the real presents in his arms. "I swear if dis is another joke…"

"No, no, no more jokes, Ah promise!" I hold up my hands in surrender. He gives me a skeptical look before finally opening the first package.

I wasn't lying when I said I didn't know enough about Remy to make an informed choice over his presents - we've only been together for the past three weeks after all. So I was praying that I would score a hit with at least one of the gifts. Thankfully, he seemed to like all of them - apart from the book about quitting smoking, that is. The couple of jazz CD's I'd selected went down well, as did the pack of cards (I'd only just discovered my beau's a bit of a gambler, and although I don't particularly want to encourage anymore degenerate traits in him - he has enough already - I figured I'd cut him some slack over the festive season). The box of expensive salon-approved hair paraphernalia may have made Emma hoot with laughter, but then again she doesn't know just how hair-obsessed Remy can be. Last but not least was what I'd anticipated would end up being the 'wild card' present, that actually turned out to be the best-received of the lot.

"Wow, chere, how did you know!" he exclaims, as he holds up the new set of designer chef's knives. "Been wantin' a set o' dese for ages!"

I say nothing and smile uncomfortably. To tell the truth, I'd only bought them because he'd been harping on about my terrible cooking the past week and a half, and regaled me with stories of being the best cook in his family and how he'd have to teach me one day. I'd never believed him, and had secretly thought that I would've been the one ending up teaching him how to use them. I feel a little ashamed now when I think about it.

"Well, yah said yah liked to cook," I explain evasively, "so I figured Ah'd get them."

"Guess you know more about me den I thought," he remarks, laying the knives aside and taking me in his arms.

"Ah'm glad you like them," I say, truly relieved not to have failed, and feeling as though I've been put through some kind of weird relationship test. He kisses me, first on the forehead, then on the nose, then on the lips and then on the mouth, so that by the time he's finished my toes are curling with pleasure.

"Now for mine," he says as we finally break apart, and there's an unmistakably wicked look on his face.

Two presents have been set aside for me, and predictably the first one is full of underwear - the fantasy kind of underwear that only a man could induce a woman to wear.

"You really got these for your own personal satisfaction, didn't you?" I note sarcastically, dangling a strip of lacy red material from my forefinger, which I can only suppose is meant to be a thong. "You don't seriously believe women _really_ like to wear these things, do you?" I ask him pointedly. I feel as if he's getting me back for the quitting smoking book already. All he can do is give an innocent shrug and a brazen smile.

"And yah already know my bra size!" I exclaim in disbelief as I inspect another gaudy bit of see-through material. Since when has any guy known how to properly relieve a woman of her bra, let alone taken the time to figure out her bra size? "What've you been doin', goin' through my laundry!"

"It was an educated guess, chere," he replies, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. I decide I don't really _want_ to know how he worked it out. I pick up my second present, secretly thinking that the first is probably going to benefit Remy more than it's going to benefit myself.

"I swear, Remy," I begin severely as I start to unwrap the heavy package, "if this is a vibrator or any other kind of sick toy, I'm throwin' it straight into the trash--"

I pause, having finally unwrapped the gift and letting it fall out into my lap. It's a large, thick tome with a colorful front cover that reads: _100 Greatest Blues Songs_. Half confused, half amazed, I open the book and find the pages are filled to the brim with musical notation and tabulature. Remy simply looks at me expectantly, his expression even more jubilant than it had been when I'd opened the underwear. I flick through the book in a daze, not knowing what to say.

_He remembered… He remembered what Ah told him durin' that stupid interview… When Ah told him Ah could play guitar… …_

I suddenly find tears pricking my eyes as I realize just how much he cares about me.

"Well?" he asks apprehensively.

"Remy… Ah- Ah don't know what t' say…" I swallow and blink back tears. "You remembered," I finally finish.

"Of course I did."

I think of my guitar, sitting back home in my apartment, dusty and battered and with half the strings broken. I haven't picked it up since I moved to New York, haven't even played it at all since the accident with Cody…

"Remy…" I finally exhale. "This is wonderful… But mah guitar… Ah ain't played it in years… It's broken…"

Without another word, he gets up, goes to the store cupboard, and produces a guitar. A brand spanking new guitar, all shiny and polished and begging to be played. I sit there and goggle at it.

"I dunno much about guitars," he admits as he sits back down next to me and offers me the instrument, "but de guy at de store said it was one of de latest models, got rave reviews in all de best guitar magazines… So I figured I'd get it for you…"

I say nothing as I handle the lovingly-crafted instrument hesitantly, twanging the strings here and there and running my fingers over the fretboard. Suddenly it's as if I never stopped playing in the first place and I feel my heart begin to swell.

"Remy…" I breathe, but no words come out.

"Don't forget, I want t' hear y' sing for me, chere," he says cheerfully. "Maybe we can have a bit of a role reversal. I can do de cookin', and you can serenade me b'fore we go to bed."

At the words it all comes bursting through and suddenly I'm laughing and crying all at the same time as I place the guitar aside and throw my arms around him and hug him tight.

"Thank you so much!" I cry, and he wraps his arms round me, his grasp strong yet tender.

"Merry Christmas, mon amour," his voice whispers comfortingly in my ear.

-xXx-

The rest of the presents around the tree were for Jean, Betsy and Emma, and while Rogue was taking the opportunity to load them into the back of her car, Remy lingered outside the front porch and flipped open his cell phone. He'd been putting off this particular call for ages, and since this Christmas had put him in a particularly good mood, it was better he faced the music now rather than later. The phone rang for a while as he watched his beautiful girlfriend walk out onto the snowy driveway in her designer heels, a pile of brightly colored parcels teetering precariously in her arms. The sight was almost enough to get him speeding to her rescue, but just as he was about to put off the inevitable and end the call before it had even begun, someone picked up on the other end.

"Hello?" sounded a thickly-accented voice Remy knew only too well. In the background Rogue had dropped a parcel and was feeling around in the snow for it unsuccessfully, but there was no time to go help her now.

"Bonjour, Jean-Luc, an' a very merry Christmas to you too," Remy replied with a mock cheeriness he couldn't quite contain.

"Who is dis?" the voice replied suspiciously.

"Remy. Remy as in Remy LeBeau. Your son? Remember him?"

"Remy!" The man's voice was suddenly enlightened. "What de devil are you callin' for?"

"Oh, so a man ain't allowed to call his one an' only favorite pere during Christmas now, is he?"

"I'm your _only_ pere, son," came the sarcastic reply of the older man, "and forgive me if I t'ink it's a little strange to hear from you when de last time I heard from you was... when was it?"

"Just over a year ago," Remy replied dryly, beginning to wish he'd never called at all. For some reason, whenever he and his father managed to get into contact, they would end up in some sort of verbal slanging match. It wasn't that they didn't like each other, it was just that they couldn't help but come to blows about _something_. It was a sad fact of life that their equally irascible and scurrilous temperaments seemed to grate against one another.

"Hmph. I thought so," Jean-Luc LeBeau replied gruffly. "But den, dis family was never good enough for Mr. High-Flyin' Remy LeBeau, neh? Why you callin' now, eh? What d'you want?"

Remy had to consciously restrain himself from taking the bait.

"Jes' t' see how my _darlin'_ fam'ly is gettin' on, is all," he returned smoothly, as he watched Rogue practically skid across the driveway on her ridiculous heels. "It _is_ Christmas after all, y'know."

"Hasn't stopped you from ignorin' us b'fore," Jean-Luc remarked coolly.

"We been t'rough dis b'fore, poppa…" Remy sighed. For several years running, ever since he'd left New Orleans, Jean-Luc had complained about his ingrate son and how he didn't even bother to come down to visit anymore, even though Remy had explained his reluctance to make the journey a couple of dozen times. It still didn't stop Jean-Luc from bringing it up at least once a year. This was exactly the reason why Remy avoided calling home.

"Yeah, we been t'rough it before," Jean-Luc grunted. "Still coulda taken de time t' visit now and den. Your brother Henri, crazy boy actually misses you, you know. And as for Mattie…what she wouldn't do t' see her boy again…"

Remy gave a small chuckle.

"Only t'ing I'm missin' 'bout home are her killer jambalayas…"

"Yeah, right. I'll let her know, maybe she can tempt you t' come over den. Although I t'ought there'd be another reason you'd wanna be comin' home sometime soon…"

Remy snorted. "Quoi? Y'mean Belle?"

"I don't mean not'ing," Jean-Luc replied quickly. "She's gettin' married, by de way."

"I know. Damned fille invited me, didn't she."

"Hmph," Jean-Luc grunted. "She did, did she? Dat fille always knew how to make a loud statement, neh? Henri and Mercy got invited too. So did Theoren and Emile."

"Dey goin'?"

"Dunno. Mebbe if you was t' come…"

"Yeah, right. T'ink I'm gonna turn up to my ex's weddin'? Do I sound crazy in de head t' you?"

"Remy, forget about Belle. We jes' wanna see you, dat's all. Hell, I don't even know where de hell you are! You still in de Big Apple?"

"Uh huh."

"Workin' at dat place, dat…"

"Laurier & Lauriel."

"Whatever. Point is, you ain't got no one out dere. You should be spendin' Christmas wit' your family, boy! You should see de spread your Tante Mattie's got out for us! An' I know you got friends out dere and everyt'ing, but it ain't de same now, is it? Dey all got dere own fam'lies to celebrate wit', and every year you spendin' Christmas at some random girl's place… Is dat any way t' spend de festive season?"

Remy silently rolled his eyes before replying.

"For your information, Jean-Luc, I'm spendin' dis Christmas in a totally reputable way. I'm headin' for a mutual acquaintance's house where we'll openin' presents and eatin' dinner in a completely civilized manner."

Jean-Luc actually laughed at that one.

"Openin' presents? As in a stripper jumpin' out of a life-sized box, givin' you a lap-dance and waitin' for you t' slip fifty bucks into her garter?"

"Uhm… Nope. I don't haveta pay t' get a lap-dance anymore."

"What?" Jean-Luc's tone was suddenly alert. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean… I got m'self a girl."

"A girl? For de night?"

"Non…" Remy tried to sound patient, albeit unsuccessfully. "For keeps."

Obviously Jean-Luc must've been shocked, because it took him a full ten seconds to find his tongue again.

"Oh," he said, trying to inject a little bit of sarcasm back into his voice. "And who might dis insanely brave girl be?"

"Her name's Anna. Anna Raven. She works at L&L."

_And is currently in very serious danger of doing herself an injury if she ain't careful, _Remy thought, as Rogue skidded on the same patch of ice again, dropped her parcels and promptly fell flat onto her ass. Remy winced.

"Anna, huh?" Jean-Luc was continuing skeptically. "And does dis girl know exactly what she's lettin' herself in for by cozyin' up to mon fils, hahn?"

Remy rolled his eyes again, sorely tempted to bite back at his father with equal venom, but at that moment Rogue happened to give up on the parcels and headed back to the porch, saving him the bother.

"Look, Jean-Luc, I gotta go," he spoke quickly into the cell phone.

"What, is Anna dere?"

"Oui. Look, I meant what I said… y'know, happy Christmas an' all dat. And send my regards to Henri and Tante Mattie, d'accord?"

"D'accord." All of a sudden the older man sounded crestfallen. "Listen, Remy - it'd be great if you could take de time t' come down sometime dis year, y'know? We ain't seen y' in four years… An' I know you're still upset 'bout Belle, but dat shouldn't stop you from seein' your own fam'ly, should it? And why don't you bring dis Anna down too? We'll put on a big spread for her, y'know what Mattie's like when you bring girls home, neh…?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look, we talk about dis later, Jean-Luc. I gotta go now. Bye."

He hung up just as Rogue approached him, rubbing her butt with a dismal expression on her face.

"What was that all about?" she asked, seeing how flustered he was as he rapidly popped his cell phone back into his pocket.

"Not'ing," he replied as nonchalantly as he could. "Jes' speakin' t' mon pere."

"Yah call your dad Jean-Luc?" she asked incredulously. Remy shrugged, gave a mirthless laugh.

"He ain't my real pere. He fostered me when I was a kid. Only ever known him as Jean-Luc."

She gazed up at him, her expression suddenly full of understanding and sympathy.

"Oh, Remy… Ah didn't know…"

She placed a hand on his arm and he smiled down at her.

"Of course y' didn't, chere." He grinned and smoothed a rumpled lock of her from her cheek. "Guess dat's one t'ing we share in common, neh? Never knew our real parents, hahn?"

She still looked despondent.

"How come you never mentioned your family?"

"Dunno," he shrugged, his smile fading. "Guess me and my father never really got on dat well. And besides, home is a bit of a touchy subject for me, y'know."

"Belle?" she queried lightly. He tried to shrug again, tried to make out that the name didn't affect him.

"She's in de past. I got you now, dat's all dat matters." He slipped his arms round her hips and held her close. "Looks like you were havin' a bit of trouble wit' dose parcels, chere. Need a big, strong man t' give you a hand?"

She smirked and rubbed her backside forlornly.

"Ah sure could do with havin' a big strong man to rub mah sore butt for me," she quipped with mock tragedy. He laughed.

"Chere, you get me to rub you better and we won't see your friend's place for another five hours or so. Don't go givin' me bad ideas."

"Like they haven't crossed your mind already," she scoffed.

His only answer was to grin and kiss her very thoroughly indeed.

-oOo-

It turns out that Emma's insistence that we arrive at her place my midday was a little _too_ optimistic.

The whole task of packing presents into the boot of my car takes a lot longer than I'd been expecting, especially since my heels keep slipping on the patch of ice right outside the front door of Remy's apartment block. Remy unhelpfully points out that I shouldn't be wearing my best Scorah Pattullo shoes out in the snow anyway, before deciding to be helpful again and making me a hot chocolate before we go. Unfortunately for me, his ministrations stop short of rubbing my sore backside better for me.

Consequently, we're more than half an hour late when we finally do arrive at Emma's place. Her huge driveway is practically buried in snow and would've been impossible to navigate if it wasn't for the tire trails that had already snaked their way up to the house. When we get out of the car, the snowfall is no longer a flurry but a literal downpour. We clatter up the steps to the porch and ring the doorbell. Of course Kristin, Emma's maid, is back home in Germany over the holidays, and so it takes a while before Emma finally opens the door with a flourish.

"Anna!" she exclaims in mock outrage. "You're late! We expected you almost an hour ago!" She hugs me and as we let go her gaze trails over to Remy. "I sincerely hope _you_ weren't the cause of my darling friend's tardiness, Mr. LeBeau," she comments, her mouth twitching humorously.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Ms. Frost," he grins expansively, "but we happened t' be held up by Rogue's complete and utter inability to stop fallin' over onto her most gorgeous ass."

"Ah would introduce the both of yah," I interject archly, annoyed at the fact that they're already poking fun at me, "but since you two already know each other, Ah guess Ah won't bother."

"No, don't," Emma returns, ushering us inside and shutting the door behind us as we shrug off our coats. "I'm not likely to forget Mr. LeBeau any time soon." She shoots him a leering look which surprises me since it looks exactly like the one he used to give me when he was determined to chase me down. I feel even more astonished when Remy throws the same predatory look back at her.

"And I ain't likely t' forget your beautiful self either, Ms. Frost," he returns with just as much innuendo. Weirdly enough, I don't get the feeling that this is flirtatious banter that they're engaging in. On the contrary it seems more like a battle of the wits. I stare between both of them, supremely confused and unable to figure out what exactly this little repartee is all about.

"Uh… Shall we go in and see the others?" I suggest before it can continue.

The rest of the gang are already waiting in the lounge, where Emma's already set up a perfect display of festive refreshments and champagne. Betsy and Jean look up expectantly as I walk in, and instantly smother me with hugs. In the background I make out two other men - the one now standing next to Emma is obviously Bobby, and the other, a little way behind Betsy, must be Warren. Warren I recognize only from the odd news report, as well as articles in various papers and magazines, notably as _Tatler_'s most eligible bachelor of the previous year. Bobby I've never met before, and yet he seems oddly familiar.

"Rogue, we thought you weren't coming!" Betsy shrieks at me, and I can tell that she's really been longing to see Remy, not me. She can't resist peeking at him and ends up gushing horribly instead.

"And you must be Remy I've heard so much about you how do you do merry Christmas oh and I'm Betsy by the way Rogue's friend I guess she'll have mentioned me…"

Remy continues to smile easily all the way through this rambling speech, while Warren's frowning a little in the background. Luckily, Emma saves the potentially tense situation by briskly cutting into Betsy's rant.

"Well, I guess I should introduce the new arrivals, now that they're here." She gives me an arch look and continues: "Everyone this is my friend, Anna-"

"Please call me Rogue," I insist quickly.

"-Or Rogue, as she prefers to be called - don't ask, it's a long story. Let's just say she's called Rogue for a reason and we'll leave it at that. I'm sure you'll find out why. Her other half - though I must say, not her better half, judging from things I've heard - is Remy LeBeau. And no that's not a Chippendale name, it really is the one he was christened with." She looks over at Remy with an odd, appraising expression on her face, but he simply inclines his head, unfazed, and continues to smile.

"This here," Emma continues, pointing to Betsy, "is my friend, Betsy Braddock, ex-supermodel by occupation, expert tree-hugger in her free time." Betsy, who'd been beaming before, suddenly looks as if she's about to protest indignantly, but Emma swiftly - and wisely - moves on. "And this is her beau, Warren Worthington III, a reputable businessman and a perfect gentleman, although his penchant for big, blue dressing gowns might make you question his respectability, not to mention his sanity."

I stare at Warren, who obviously looks torn between ripping Emma's head off and feeling relieved that she hadn't been quite as scathing as he'd expected. Emma, however, has already moved onto Jean.

"This beautiful redhead goes by the name of Jean Grey - don't forget the Doctor. She may look like a pushover, but as with all redheads, beware. This girl jilted her man at the altar and nearly had an affair with a hairy pigmy named Logan - but that, folks, is a story for another day."

Everyone smiles at Jean, who grins in return and looks only a little embarrassed.

"And this here," Emma finally comes to the last guest with a proud flourish, "is none other than the weird and wonderful Bobby Drake, the love of my life and the light of my world, and yes, that is a T-shirt he's wearing, and no, that's not because he's crazy, but because he's immune to the cold. I kid you not."

I suddenly remember where I'd met Bobby drake before. It was in the Super-Low Val-U Mart in October. He'd been wearing a Hawaiian shirt, sandals and a pair of khaki shorts.

"And now that the formalities are over," Emma concludes, still with great dignity and aplomb, "I suggest we each grab a glass of champagne, mingle, and see if we can discover anymore interesting facts about one another!"

"You didn't tell us anything about yourself!" Betsy points out caustically, still looking offended over what Emma had said about her.

"My dear Betsy!" Emma replies with mock surprise. "Why, I am Emma Frost! And that's all anyone here needs to know!"

Warren looks as if he's about to finally get a scathing remark in, but for some reason decides not to. Remy, on the other hand, leans in towards me and murmurs: "Dat Emma is quite somet'ing, isn't she?"

He looks over at her with an oddly begrudging look of admiration, one that leaves me even more bewildered than before. Just what is going on between those two, I wonder?

"She sure is," I finally agree. "And then some."

Everyone moves to the refreshments table and gets down to eating, drinking and chatting. Emma excuses herself and goes off to see to the Christmas dinner with a scowl on her face. It isn't that she can't cook or anything. As with just about anything she turns her mind to, Emma's a brilliant cook. She just hates having to do it herself when she has a maid to do everything else for her.

While I'm looking at the tidbits on the table and trying to exert some willpower on myself (I have to save up some room Christmas dinner, after all), Bobby comes up beside me and starts scoffing down chicken wings. I stare at him out of the corner of my eye. At least he's sorting out the problem of eating too much for me. At the rate he's going there won't be anything left.

"You sure you're gonna have enough room for dinner when you're done with those?" I ask him incredulously.

"Good point," he replies cheerfully, after having just polished off his third chicken wing. "Emma will kill me if I don't eat her meal. Luckily my stomach is bottomless!"

I glance over him. The guy's so skinny I would've expected him to be living on apples and grits.

"Yah don't say?" I return, a little jealously. One day's worth of Christmas dinner and I'm fighting off a fat ass for the next three months.

"Yeah, lucky me, huh?" he replies jovially, and a little insensitively, or so I think. "Hey, we've met before, haven't we? I remember you from the Super-Low-Val-U Mart."

"You can remember that far back?" I blink. He looks even ditzier than Betsy sometimes does, and that's saying something.

"Sure, who can forget?" He grins. "I'd never forget a girl who has a white streak in her hair. Not to mention such a pretty face…"

I glance around the room, expecting to see Remy bearing down on poor Bobby, ready to punch the living daylights out of him. But to my surprise, he's nowhere to be seen.

"Yeah, Ah remember you too," I reply, a little disconcerted by Remy's disappearance. "Who could forget a guy who wears Hawaiian shirts in the middle of fall?"

He grins good-naturedly, and even though he seems a little weird, I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt since he's open and friendly enough - even though I wouldn't have placed him as Emma's type at all. Still, he makes her happy and that's all that matters. We chat casually for a couple more minutes, until Jean and Betsy come up and drag me away.

"Ohmigod, Emma was _not_ lying!" Betsy squeals ecstatically when we're finally ensconced in a little corner. "Remy is _hot_!"

"Shh, Warren will hear you!" I hiss back at her, eyeing Warren, who's now deep in conversation with Bobby.

"Oh, Warren knows he has absolutely no competition!" Betsy waves a hand impatiently. "But I can't get over it! And he's your _boss_! What's he doing wearing a suit and tie, he should be on the cat-walk!"

I raise a skeptical eyebrow. "Somehow I think the _last_ thing Remy would want to be is on the cat-walk." The very thought of having to do a girly thing like strutting and posing on a runway in front of hundreds of people would probably give him a fit.

"I'll hire him for my new advertisement campaign!" Betsy continues eagerly, ignoring me. "Of course, we'll be needing all the exposure we can get for our menswear range… If I could get him to be the male face of _Braddock Boutique, _I'd be onto a real winner!"

"Betsy, you've only just signed the contract to buy the premises!" Jean cuts in warningly, but Betsy waves her aside.

"Well, I have to plan ahead, you know!" she says defensively. "You _will_ run the idea by him, won't you, Rogue? And let me know what he thinks?"

"Er - okay," I answer dubiously, but Betsy gives me a jubilant little hug anyway.

"Emma _was_ right though," Jean states with a sly smile on her face. "He _is_ to die for. Quite a catch you've made there, Anna."

"Not that I did any of the catching," I remark sardonically. Remy had been determined to hunt me down even if it was the last thing he did.

"Pfft, what man wants a woman to do all the catching anyway?" Betsy speaks up. "There's nothing that chases a man away faster!"

I grunt doubtfully. Remy's never had any personal problems with women chasing him, even if he doesn't tend to stick around once he's been caught.

"What we _really_ came here to tell you," Jean begins solemnly, although a bright smile nevertheless touches her lips, "is that we're happy for you Rogue. The two of you look really good together. We just knew it'd work out in the end."

"Aww, thanks guys," I say, as we all converge in a group hug. When we break apart, I venture to ask Jean: "So what about you? You heard from that Logan guy again recently?"

Betsy glances questioningly at Jean and I can tell I'm not the only one who's interested to know the answer. Jean, however, looks quite calm, although I detect a pained expression in her eyes.

"No, I haven't. I haven't even seen him since…since the wedding." Her voice becomes quieter as she mentions the disastrous wedding ceremony that was never to be.

"And Scott?" I persist, referring to her ex-husband-to-be. Perhaps it's cruel of me to bring it all back to her, but I now realize Jean has a tendency to bottle things up, and that's the last thing I want for her.

"Well," she starts uncomfortably, "we have kinda been keeping in touch. Nothing significant though. He sent me a Christmas card, and I sent him one back, but his message was very neutral… I don't think we'll be getting back together any time soon. Besides," she adds self-consciously, "it's something I don't really think I want right now."

Betsy and I nod sympathetically. In fact, we're both pretty glad that she isn't attached at the moment. She needs to be alone to clear her head and decide what she really wants from life, and that's something we can both understand.

"You girls alright?"

We turn to see Warren coming up behind us, followed by Bobby.

"I've never seen so many girls together looking so glum," the handsome, blond-haired business magnate declares. "And at Christmas too!"

"It's nothing," Betsy insists buoyantly, allowing Warren to wrap his arm round her waist as she leans affectionately into him. "We're just talking about relationships, that's all."

"Or lack of them," Jean adds quite cheerfully.

"Who wants relationships anyway!" I sigh theatrically.

"Don't worry," Jean assures me. "I'm not complaining!"

"You two seem to be doing alright," Warren observes of me and Remy, giving me a wink. "When he's around, that is."

Not for the first time, I realize that Remy's still nowhere in sight. Bobby, however, offers an explanation for his disappearance.

"Oh, he went into the kitchen with Emma, I guess he's helping her with the food."

I can't help it. A wave of jealousy sweeps over me, and it takes a real effort to hold it down. Nevertheless, I put on a wide smile and say: "That'll make two culinary masters together then."

"Remy can cook?" Betsy exclaims in surprise.

"He could give the Naked Chef a run for his money," I note glumly, thinking of how many times I must've made a fool for myself cooking dinner for him. Betsy merely has a shell-shocked look on her face.

"What?" I say.

"Well… he just doesn't look the type," she answers apologetically. "Wow, not only is incredibly good-looking, but he can _cook_ as well!"

Warren and I both roll our eyes.

I quickly excuse myself from the rest of the group and make my way to the kitchen, from which mouth-watering aromas are already exuding. Creeping up to the doorway, I distinctly hear Remy's voice addressing Emma from within.

"I knew it from de very first moment I saw you, Emma." I immediately freeze just outside the door as I hear the words. His tone of voice is serious and heartfelt, and I prick up my ears to hear more, eyes narrowed. _Oh? And just what is it you knew from the first moment you saw her, you slippery, good-fer-nuthin' Cajun?_

"I knew from de very first moment dat I laid eyes on you dat you were a heartless bitch," he finishes. I don't know whether to feel confused or relieved. He hadn't said it in a malicious tone at all - actually he'd sounded quite admiring, as if he were complimenting her on the flower-baskets outside her front porch. I edge in a little closer to hear more.

"Rather like yourself, I should imagine," Emma's cool voice returns in reply, without the faintest hint of passion or desire.

"I t'ink 'heartless bastard' would be more applicable in my case," Remy replies pointedly.

Right, that's it. Just what is going on between those two?

"How many?" he suddenly asks her quickly.

"Fifty," she says smugly. "You?"

"Ah-hah, must be about a hundred," he throws back in an even smugger tone. They sound so smug, in fact, that I'm sure they're both exaggerating.

"Well, of course it's easier for you," Emma returns stiffly. "You're a man."

"So?"

"Men are hardwired not to give a shit."

"Yeah, right. You just jealous."

"Jealous of _you_?" Emma's voice is literally dripping with contempt. "Like hell. And what would Anna think if she heard you boasting about something like that?"

_That does it!_

"What would Ah think if Ah heard him boastin' about _what_?" I demand, walking right in there and facing them. Remy's leaning against the work surface, a plate of stuffing in his hands. For once, he's looking decidedly uncomfortable and - amazingly - guilty as I step into the room. Emma, likewise, is standing over the turkey, which looks as if it's just come out of the oven, a similarly furtive look on her face.

"Er - Rogue," is all Remy can stutter, and Emma's smile widens even more. I place my hands on my hips and frown heavily at the two of them.

"Okay, Ah want out with it! Just what on earth is goin' on b'tween you two? What's so secret that yah can't even tell me what you were talkin' about?"

An uneasy silence passes. Emma's no longer smiling as she shoots a glance at Remy and he shoots a glance back at her.

"_Remy_," I entreat him severely. He clears his throat awkwardly before he replies. "Was not'ing, chere…"

Emma snorts, and I glare at her, threatening: "And would Bobby like to hear what you were talkin' about too?"

That definitely gives her something to worry about as she busily begins to transfer the turkey to its platter, pink circles glowing on her cheeks.

"I've got nothing to hide," she mutters belligerently under her breath. "Bobby knows all about my past... I've been honest with him about it... Besides, everyone knows I've been around the block at least twenty times already…"

My eyes widen as it suddenly dawns on me what they were doing. Emma and Remy were _competing._

"You two were comparin' _conquests_!" I shriek in complete and utter outrage.

"_Shh_!" Emma suddenly hisses. "Go and broadcast it to the whole world, why don't you!"

Remy merely stands there and looks sheepish.

"Okay!" I seethe, glowering storm clouds at the both of them. "Okay, y'all may find it _amusin'_ to gloat about the times you've used your stupid charms to lure unsuspectin' people into your filthy little affairs, but Ah for one find it disgustin'! Remy, Ah'm ashamed! Ah really thought you'd turned over a new leaf, but Ah guess Ah was wrong! And as for you!" I turn to Emma and point accusingly at her, "just b'cause you're a woman doesn't mean y'all can get away with it! People aren't just _things_ that you can use and then throw away at the drop of a hat!"

I pause, literally fuming. Emma's still laboring over the turkey, brow creased and stony-faced, even though her cheeks are very red now.

"Sorry," she mumbles awkwardly, and the apology is so inadequate I'm about to fly off the handle again, when Remy comes and takes me by the shoulders, his expression one of abject contrition.

"Rogue - chere - I'm sorry," he tells me sincerely. "Emma and I didn't mean to hurt you, we were just having a bit of fun."

"_Fun_!" I screech, and he carries on quickly, realizing his mistake.

"But you're right, chere, of course you are. We both made mistakes, but dey were in de past and we've changed now. Look how happy Emma is wit' Bobby. And you and me... I swear it Rogue, none of dose women ever meant a t'ing to me, but you… you mean everyt'ing. Dis Cajun would erase his whole womanizin' past in de blink of an eye for you."

I listen to his words, calming down somewhat.

"Remy, if this is all just sweet-nothings, Ah swear Ah'll…"

He smiles, that charming, dazzling smile that he knows just melts my heart. And I know he's laying on the charm just to get my temper to simmer down, but I simply can't resist that smile. Within moments I've thrown my arms about him and am embracing him tight.

Behind us, Emma can only give a very large and poignant snort.

-xXx-

Fifteen minutes later, we're all sitting round the table, tucking into Emma's picture perfect Christmas dinner. Once her long-winded and grandiose speech had been made (Remy had started groping my leg under the table about 5 minutes into it out of sheer boredom), and a quick grace had been said, Jean had got up to carve the turkey on Emma's insistence, since she was the group's resident mother-figure. I had to give it to Emma - she certainly laid out a good spread. I think even Remy was impressed, but then he seemed to be oddly impressed with everything Emma did or said.

Much as I love Christmas dinner, I'd had to go easy on the roast potatoes otherwise I knew I'd be bloated for the next few months. I sit there and stare down at my plate, which is filled up with more Brussels sprouts and parsnip than anyone else. Remy's plate is practically overloaded with generous helpings of everything, and I can't help wishing I could eat as much as him and get away with it.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the table, Warren and Bobby are enthusiastically discussing Batman comics.

"You know," Warren is saying animatedly, "if you're collecting Batman comics, you should take a look round my folk's place. My dad's been collecting them since he was a kid - my grandfather even gave him some of his vintage ones from when _he_ was a kid. They're all bagged and boarded and they've been kept in pristine condition. I wasn't even allowed to take them out of the bags when I was a kid!"

"Wow, sweet!" Bobby exclaims, truly in awe. "You know, the oldest one I've managed to get my hands on is only thirty years old… It's so hard to get any that are in decent condition these days, not when they're _that_ old…"

"Well, if you wanna take a look at my father's collection, you're welcome to do so. I'll show you round some time, if you want…"

"Cool! That'd be awesome, Warren…"

My attention drifts over to Remy beside me, who's still talking heatedly with Emma, wonder of wonders.

"…Oui, but you know, dere are some people dat just _ask_ for it, how de hell you supposed to say no?"

"Oh, of course, I don't deny that… You see, when I was fifteen there was this guy in school… Fool wouldn't leave me alone, kept following me around between classes, so, you know, I just thought, well, I'll teach you to keep harassing me, so I totally led him on for while, made out with him and got him off a couple of times, flattered the fool and made him believe he was the greatest thing alive… Idiot went about school telling all his idiot friends he was going to score, so I said, I'll book us in a room in this nearby hotel, we'll go in under aliases, and I'll meet him in the room after he's checked in. Only that night I went out with my girlfriends to do whatever, something stupid and illegal, no doubt… And next morning all the school was talking about how he'd had to foot the bill for this swanky hotel when the girl he'd been waiting for hadn't even showed up…"

"Oh dat's nothin'! When _I_ was fifteen, dere was dis girl - OW!"

Somehow my heel has accidentally dug itself into Remy's foot.

"Chere, I was jes' tellin Emma… Look, it's all in de past!"

A pointed glare from me is all it takes for him to fall silent. I suddenly get the feeling that Remy and Emma are a little _too_ alike.

"It's lucky Bobby can't hear yah gloatin' over your conquests, Emma!" I shoot at her irately.

"That's the whole point, Anna," Emma informs me with great dignity, waving her fork in the air, a roast potato stuck firmly on the end of it. "Remy and I are simply reminiscing on our troubled and sordid pasts. We're completely reformed characters now, and are eternally grateful to you and Bobby."

I grunt suspiciously, unconvinced. It sounds more like they're bragging than commiserating. I turn my back poignantly on Remy towards Jean, who gives me a questioning look.

"What's all that about?"

"Don't ask," I grumble. "Remy just seems to have found his female soulmate, is all."

Jean bursts into laughter, which doesn't make me feel any better.

"What's so funny?" I snap.

"Well," Jean begins once she's sobered up a bit, "haven't you ever thought that if Emma was born a man, she'd be a right old lothario? I mean, it _is_ a standing joke that she went through men like she went through shoes…"

"Hmm," I say in a disapproving tone of voice.

"…And that the word 'relationship' might as well be foreign to her…"

"Hmph," I add on top of that.

"I mean, technically Emma could knock back pints and boast about her conquests with the best of them."

"And get away with it," Betsy adds from the other side of Jean. "You know, a few weeks back, she actually asked Jean what it is that makes a woman _want_ to stay with _one_ man for the rest of her life - not to mention _why_ exactly anyone would want to do that anyway! I mean, isn't that _exactly_ what a _man_ would say?"

"Yeah," Jean chuckles loudly. "An inability to commit - it's a prime guy thing. Like," and she puts on her best impression of your typical Dumb Jock, "'ohmigod, stay with her for the rest of my life? I mean, how am I even supposed to find the sex interesting anymore once we've run out of positions to try! Ohmigod, how am I supposed to live without sex! And what if she turns fat and ugly before we run out of positions to try? Major freak out, man!'"

Betsy and I let out shrieks of laughter that cause Bobby and Warren to jump a mile.

"God, I'm so glad I'm single," Jean sighs.

"That isn't funny, you know," Emma interjects coolly from the head of the table.

"Oh, lighten up, Emma, you've seen the light," Jean replies jauntily. "When you wake up in the mornings and see your lovely man lying there beside you, all your questions are answered. You finally understand _why_ a woman would want to spend the rest of her life with _one man_, don't you." She pauses, her expression turning to one of concern and says: "_Don't you_?"

Emma, having listened to all this, has the good grace to finally blush.

"Of course!" she cries defensively. "And for your information, Ms. Grey, I'm totally devoted to Bobby here, so there's no need to poke fun!"

Betsy and Jean give her looks of approval, but Remy has a peculiar grin on his face, as if he'd finally got one over Emma. I suddenly realize that all this time he's been feeling somewhat threatened by Emma, who just happens to be a beautiful and sexy woman who could so easily beat him at his own game. And he's grinning now because he's convinced himself Emma's made a confession he'd never make himself.

"Ah don't know what you're smilin' at!" I bark at him, irritated at his stupid male psychology now that I've got him all worked out. I don't even feel sympathetic about Emma's humiliation, seeing as she'd been egging Remy on all afternoon.

"Uh… nothin', chere," he replies innocently. I glower at him.

"And don't even bother turnin' the charm on meh! It may work on stupid airhead bimbos like Sandy, but Ah've cottoned onto yah male chauvinist ways, swamp snake, and you're not foolin' me!"

I continue to dig viciously into my turkey, ignoring the looks of sympathy Warren and Bobby send Remy's way. Remy, however, seems unconcerned. Shrugging, and still smiling in that infuriating way of his, he continues with his dinner. A couple of minutes later he leans in towards me and whispers in my ear: "I still t'ink you're sexy when you're mad, chere."

Since my mouth is full of roast potatoes, the best I can do is shoot him a lopsided scowl, although I'm sorely tempted to stamp on his foot again. At least his conversation is semi-decent afterwards, and he and Emma start discussing rate hikes rather than all the times they've managed to score.

After dinner, and after all the plates have been cleared away (and I've done my part by bunging them into the dishwasher), it's time to exchange presents. For Jean, I'd got a humorous lifestyle book which had been my bible the past four years or so - _The Singleton's Survival Guide: How to Stay Sane While You're Single_. Jean laughs and says it'll make good bedtime reading; not to mention she'll be needing it, having been very much non-single for the past five or six years of her life. For Betsy I'd bought a set of ethnic jewelry, including a necklace, bracelet, earrings, anklet, rings and God knows what else, handmade by a group of unmarried women in some village in India. I heard the proceeds went straight to them anyway, so naturally Betsy was thrilled with it. Emma was a tough one to buy for, but in the end I decided to go down to Ann Summers and replace that whip she'd broken on one of her erstwhile boyfriends the previous spring. I had no idea whether it was appropriate or not, only I remembered that Emma had always seemed rather fond of her whip - perhaps simply holding it in her hand had made her feel invincible, or maybe she'd liked to chivvy her staff around with it. She seems pleased to be presented with it at any rate; Bobby looks terrified when he claps eyes on it. Remy, on the other hand, raises his eyebrows and gives me a look which I interpret as _did you get an extra one for keeps_? The stern look I give him in reply leaves him looking very crestfallen indeed.

The gifts I receive are somewhat mis-matched. Betsy has given me a few samples of jewelry and clothing that she's been planning for her boutique. Considering the fact that she'd only finalized the deal with Millicent Collins a few weeks back, I'm impressed with just how quick she is, even though she's assured me the store won't be open for the next six months or so.

"Y'all have already got somebody employed to make jewelry and clothes samples?" I ask her incredulously.

"Count yourself lucky to be getting a sneak preview," she winks at me.

Jean's present consists of a new set of romance books (although I'm not really sure I need my daily fix of romance stories anymore, seeing as I have Remy to distract me), a few karaoke DVDs, and a really cute friendship locket. Emma, on the other hand, predictably gets me the _Karma Sutra_ - both DVD and book editions.

"Just in case you happen to get bored of an evening, darling," Emma says wickedly, while I quickly hide them away before Remy can spot them and get any ideas.

"Pfft, with Remy around that ain't very likely," I scoff, looking around to see if he's anywhere nearby. Luckily he's on the other side of the room talking with the boys and not paying us any attention at all.

"Well, at least you know you can be prepared for anything he throws at you," Emma grins. I simply grimace. I have half a mind to chuck her present in the nearest trashcan I can find. The last thing I want is for Remy to find it and start harassing me about its contents.

"Yeah, right," I mutter under my breath.

-oOo-

By evening the snow had started to peter out and finally come to a halt. Remy stood out on the veranda of Emma's back garden and lit up a cigarette. Out here the stars were clear, clearer than they were in the heart of the city. He looked up into the sky and breathed in the chilly air, shuddering only slightly in the cold. For some reason Monet's words back at the Christmas party were bothering him. It wasn't that he was in any way attracted to Monet anymore. There was no way _she_ was going to be worming her way under his skin, that was for sure. Her words were bothering him more than anything. Would he get bored of Rogue? Would he end up preferring freedom to stability with her? At the present moment he didn't want anything other than the way things were now, and yet, what if he felt differently so many months down the line?

He shivered. It wasn't something he liked to think about.

"So there yah are."

He turned to see Rogue coming up behind him, her breath catching as icy clouds on the air. She frowned comically as she saw the cigarette in his hand.

"Ah wasn't jokin' when Ah gave yah that book," she noted rather pointedly. He shrugged.

"I'll give up in de New Year, how 'bout dat?"

She gave him a look that was plainly skeptical, but said nothing, coming up to stand beside him on the veranda.

"So what did Emma give you?" he asked instead. "You hid it b'fore I could get a look in."

"Ah did not hide it!" she replied a little too defensively. "Yah just weren't around, that was all!"

"Was it as good as dat whip you got her?" he inquired slyly. As he'd thought, Rogue was particularly prickly about the subject.

"Get over than goddamned whip already, Cajun!" she snapped at him. "Gawd, what do Ah haveta do to get yah depraved mind outta the gutter?"

When she got this angry it always made him want to laugh, but he sensed that she would explode if he even dared to chuckle, so he didn't.

"I dunno, you could just _whip_ it out of me, I guess."

Luckily for him, she decided not to explode. Instead she looked up at him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

"Funny - for some reason, Ah always figured you were more of a sadist than a masochist," she observed.

"Chere," he assured her sexily with a lopsided grin in her direction. "There is a streak of de masochist in practically every man."

"Oh yeah?" she retorted cynically. "Then maybe yah won't mind if Ah whip yah into helpin' me clean out mah apartment."

The expression in his eyes was literally smoldering.

"I _knew_ you were serious when you mentioned dat 'on my hands and knees cleaning out de oven topless' thing," he drawled. "Care to add some BDSM into dat little scenario, p'tit?"

"_No_," she replied through clenched teeth, but he knew she was fighting with herself to give in. He simply couldn't repress his grin. Her stubborn tenacity was one of the things he found endlessly appealing about her. And he knew her passions were just as great as his own - she just thought he'd already indulged his passions enough to last a lifetime, and that anything more would be nothing more than plain greed. He knew it was only a matter of time before she caved into him though.

"Chere, you take dis all way too seriously," he remarked lazily.

"This _is_ serious, in case yah didn't notice! At least Ah hope it is," she added hotly. "Isn't it?"

He frowned a little, stubbed out his cigarette and held out his arms to her. After a few seconds of hesitation she finally succumbed and he wrapped his arms snugly around her, holding her tight.

"Of course it's serious, ma chere," she murmured softly into her hair. "Anna, you've given dis Cajun his best Christmas ever."

She raised her head and smirked at him.

"From the sounds of it, that ain't any major achievement now, is it?"

"It is to dis Cajun," he replied sincerely, leaning forward so that his forehead touched her own. "Keep it up and you may just turn me into a noble and respectable guy yet."

She chuckled that low, sexy chuckle that he always found so alluring.

"Remy, that ain't in the least possible," she drawled knowingly, brushing her lips against his own. "But Ah still love yah anyway. And just for the record," she added in a whisper, her deep green eyes softening as she held him closer, pulling him in for a kiss, "havin' you in mah life is the best Christmas present this Mississippi River rat could ever have wished for."

-xXx-

* * *

_To be continued..._


End file.
